Cracks
by JessicaJ
Summary: Vincent is tired of enduring. Asking for help from an old friend, he realises they need some help in return. Changes are made, old ways are left behind, and out of adversity, blooms the powerful but wonderful world of realisation. Vin/Tifa
1. Prologue

**This just came to me, as I am feeling a little low myself, so I thought I'd get it out as a form of self-therapy!**

**Enjoy.x**

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Life seemed to move at a pace different to her; it swept around her, jostling her as she moved onwards, head down to withstand the wind of rushing time. She was lonely; inside she ached for something, anything, to fill the void in her chest. At night she would cry; the tears would form and slide slowly down her cold cheek, lacking any energy. She didn't have any left. She felt restless, slept little. She struggled finding things to do to pass the days, to make life hold some structure, substance--Meaning.

Cloud was god knows where. Vincent was in Midgar, Barret in Coral; all her friends were scattered around the globe. It didn't matter than she could hop onto a train for a few hours and be around them; around people she was familiar with. She felt removed from everything recently. She tried not to leave her house, situated a short walk from the Junon harbour, except for the occasional reflective walk along the beach. Nothing seemed real; people's rudeness and ignorance incensed her. She couldn't face them.

Men showed interest in her, but she gave them little cause to pursue it. More than once she was tempted to just say yes to a date, in the hope that she could make herself feel a little more human again. But it never seemed to work out. They just didn't understand her, didn't find her as interesting after one or two dates. They gave up on her eventually; though she had given up on herself long before they had. All they seemed to want was sex, and though some days she wanted that too, so much sometimes it scared her, so much she could scream, she couldn't bring herself to just give herself over to it. She knew she would come to regret it.

She wondered about what she could do; there had to be something surely, to rid her of the sense of uselessness, the sense that she was suspended in flux; on a train, unsure where her stop actually was.

One evening found her, as usual, sat reading a book she had probably read a dozen times before, a glass of wine in reach. Perhaps if she finished the bottle she could get some sleep tonight. Then she wouldn't spend hours working herself into a mental tangle, leaving her wide awake and frustrated.

Then the phone rang.


	2. Chapter 1

**A new concept of mine, written very late at night when I should be sleeping. **

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Vincent, but only in my dreams *sigh***

**Please review and let me know how you find it.**

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It had never been more obvious to him that he loathed himself; standing capeless and shirtless in front of the cracked mirror in his room, he observed himself, disgust broiling beneath the surface of his skin. His golden arm glinted in the dim light from the oil lamp, hanging ugly, malformed, and grotesque at his side. His lank raven hair hung now way past his shoulders, only serving to accentuate the shocking pale colour of his skin. His body was covered in scars, his eyes a demonic red, glowing eerily out from his colourless face.

It was now three years after the protomateria had been removed from his body; at least now that Chaos was gone he had one less thing to hate about himself. But as time wore on, he was coming to realise something. He was all human again- or at least in theory- and there was nothing stopping him from making changes. He chuckled a little to himself. _Him_, Vincent Valentine, make changes? He disliked changes, deviations from the norm, almost as much as he hated the brass arm he bore. But he knew he had to start somewhere, if he was going to start again at all.

It had taken him months of self persuasion to finally do it; he was surprised she had taken to the task so readily, and with as much enthusiasm. Tifa Lockheart had sounded delighted to hear from him, tripping over her own words and the customary how-are-you's, begging him to come and visit her in Junon New Town, where she now lived. Before he could stop himself, he was packed and on the train, leaving his ratty old apartment behind and looking forwards to a new start.

She welcomed him into her home with open arms- quite literally- he had found her arms around his waist and her lips against his cheek before he could prepare himself for it. She laughed on taking in his expression, but thankfully brushed it off, and helped him to the spare room with his bags.

On no time she had plied him with whiskey, and Vincent found it was all coming out: how he couldn't seem to find a niche to fit into, the way he was; how he was tired of the odd looks, the way he frightened people with his appearance, and how he disliked himself so much. He found she was an excellent listener, sat with her chin resting on her raised knees, warm brown eyes considering him carefully.

"So you are saying, in a round about way, that you want a life makeover," He found himself giving an involuntary chuckle at her choice of words.

"I suppose you could put it that way, yes," He drained his glass for the seventh time, setting it down on the coffee table before him. "I was thinking of starting with this." He raised his right arm, the gold glinting dully in the warm firelight.

The day had slid away into night in Junon, and Tifa had settled them in her cosy living room. She lived alone in a small house on the sea front. After Cloud had left, she had turned her back on Midgar for good. Sitting there now, looking around at her living room walls crammed with photographs of all of their comrades, he felt somewhat guilty. He hadn't been there to offer her as much support as she was readily giving to him, when Cloud had upped and left. He should have.

He watched her carefully as she took him clawed hand in hers to examine it. "Do you have sensation in it?"

"…A little." He suppressed a shiver as her fingertips brushed the skin just above where the metal ceased. "It is very old now."

"Barrett had a cybernetic hand grafted on, after meteor," She mused, letting his metal hand down again. He became aware of the sudden cold. "Its only still metal because of his gun attachments, you know. I remember the doctors telling him they could grow skin."

"Is that so?" He was unable to hide his discomfort at the mention of surgery. He had thought about it before, but opted to push it to the back of his mind.

"You're not fond of hospitals, are you?" She said softly, toying with a piece of her hair. "There's no need to worry, Junon Hospital is in no way related to ShinRa. They were great when Barrett was there for his operation."

"I see." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Don't worry," she repeated, hauling herself to her feet and stretching. "I'll be there to make sure you're ok! I'll be back in a moment; I think I can hear my phone ringing."

Vincent watched her leave the room, struggling to stand and stretch out his aching muscles. It had been a long train journey, and an even longer talk. He wandered around the room, examining Tifa's trinkets and ornaments, as well as her collection of photographs of Avalanche. They were taken before many of the world's land marks; Wutai's pagoda, the rocket launch pad, on the deck of the Highwind and so on, and they all brought back a jumble of indistinct memories. He was always a shadow in the background, a tall imposing stranger that didn't seem as though he belonged.

He sighed, and came to a collection of pictures that seemed older and unfamiliar to him. Some of Tifa as a child with her trainer, her parents, and then one which was lying face down. Vincent furrowed his brow as he picked up the frame from its place on the dresser to better view it. It was of Cloud and Tifa, taken at the God Saucer, four years ago. Cloud wasn't really smiling, the cold blue of his eyes piercing, even in picture form. And there was Tifa, stood next to him, smiling, with her eyes warm and as inviting as usual. He scowled a little. Such a foolish young man.

"What're you looking at?" Her sudden reappearance made him start, placing the picture down with a little too much force and too close to the edge. It slid from his grasp and out of reach, bouncing once, twice on the wooden floor before smashing.

"I'm sorry," He spluttered, crouching to retrieve the picture. Tifa laughed and stooped to help him. Their fingers touched as they both reached for the frame simultaneously, and Vincent withdrew quickly, brushing the shards of glass into a pile with his metal hand. He tried not to look at her as he got to his feet, the glass fragments clutched awkwardly in metal fingers, aware that she had straightened up also, the picture held up before her face.

As he hurried out of the room to rid himself of the broken glass, it occurred to him that perhaps she hadn't looked at that photograph in a while, or at least not since the last time, when she had no doubtedly placed it the way he had found it. He returned with reluctance to the room to find her in the same stationary position, still clutching the frame. He felt his stomach knot with dread at noticing tears pulsing down her cheeks.

It seemed to take her a moment to acknowledge his presence in the room; she set it down again with a little too much force for a casual action, hastily wiping her cheeks with the heel of her hand.

"I'm sorry, Vincent," She laughed a little as she returned to her seat, landing heavily against the cushions. After a moment, he followed suit. "I am supposed to be listening to you, not crying over a stupid photograph."

"I can listen, too." He said slowly. "I feel that perhaps I should have offered to you what you have so readily given to everyone, a long time ago. I was too selfish. Forgive me."

"Vincent…" She touched his flesh hand with her fingertips, after a moment, taking it between her own. "Of course I forgive you. But perhaps it is getting late," She said softly, casting a glance towards her mantle clock, which read half past midnight.

"I have time for you, if you need," He replied resisting the impulse to shift closer to her.

"It can wait until tomorrow, Vincent. But thank you." She kissed his hand gently, before getting to her feet and heading towards the stairs, at the back of the room. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Tifa." He listened for her footsteps, creaking along the hallway, and into her room, punctuated only by the snap of the closing door. Then a moments silence before she started to cry.

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	3. Chapter 2

**I am happy that this seems to be getting some interest. Chapters are coming out slowly, it usually takes a few more before I get into the flow of things.**

**I'd love to get some more reviews, to hear what people think about this, and where I could go with it.**

**Enjoy, and Review!!!**

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She awoke early with a sudden feeling of apprehension, a stirring within her gut that sent her adrenalin surging. Why had she woken? She glanced at the clock: a few minutes after six, a time most unnatural and unfamiliar to her. Her heart was beating a little too fast for her to relax and fall back to sleep, so she slid her feet out of her warm bed and into her cold slippers, shuffling out of her room and onto the landing.

The door to the spare room hit like a dead stop to her heart; there was someone else in the house for once, a reason to be quiet, a reason to be courteous. Something to busy herself with. Had she awoken out of realisation of his presence? Could she feel those steel eyes fixed on her, even in sleep?

When he had called, she had been surprised but delighted, and invited him without a second thought. It was only when she placed the phone back down onto the receiver with a harsh click that it occurred to her she didn't really know this man. Although, she told herself with a hint of a pleased smile, she would know more soon enough.

The door handle was cool and smooth in her grip, and to her pleasure it opened silently. The door slid almost noiselessly over the carpet, and she was able to cross the room avoiding the creaks in the floor. He was lying facing her, and for a moment she felt her heart leap in her throat- were his eyes open? Such a fool, to be caught creeping into his room at this hour, for no particular reason.

Holding her breath, she leant over his form, tucking her long strands of hair behind her ears as she paused, inches from his face. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out the outline of his face- those angular cheek bones and jaw, his straight nose, perfect eyebrows which seemed to have been made for the sole purpose of quirking at any moment in response to a blasé comment.

Yet his mouth, which was obscured from view by the covers, she had neither knowledge nor memory of. He always wore that silly cloak of his, even when he had arrived the day before, though she was pleased to find he had repaired it, or rather, shortened it to remove the tattered end strip, since the last time she had seen him. If she could just move the sheets to one side she would be able to see him better…

Her hand seemed to shake uncontrollably, wavering in mid air, as she reached out, palm pressed gently to the cool cotton. Then, whether due to lack of attentiveness, or his extrasensory abilities, his eyes opened, and fixed on hers, his fingers closing about her wrist in a vice-like grip.

"I'm sorry! I was just-" She spluttered, feeling herself flush violently.

"You didn't think you were being quiet did you?" He said sternly, though at that moment she liked to think that she saw him suppress a smile.

"I- I mean, I was…"

"You were checking I was still here?" He let go of her wrist to reach for the lamp. Its light burst though the shade, temporarily blinding her. "Well here I am. I promise."

She squinted through her raised arms, examining what she could see of his face. He seemed to be smiling. "I'm sorry, it was just an impulse."

"I see." He stretched, raising both his arms above his head. His metal arm creaked a little as he moved it. Sensing an opportunity for a diversion, she shuffled, still squinting, to the edge of the bed where she sat heavily.

"Does it hurt you?" She reached for his metal hand, which he seemed to give her with reluctance. Putting what was inhuman, what he hated the most, in-between them.

"Sometimes. I don't pretend to understand how the human central nervous system works, but I believe Hojo was not careful in understanding it either." He spoke the name with such venom, that Tifa was amazed she had forgotten to ask about him last night whilst they had been talking. It had been because of Hojo, after all, that they had found him.

"Is you're real arm still underneath?" Vincent was impressed that she was able to hide her disgust, if she felt any at all.

"I cannot say for certain what is there. Bone, muscle maybe, but I do not think my skin would have lasted. I would have guessed at it's… being removed. Surely it would have become infected by now, if it still remained."

"Right. I hear skin is relatively easy to grow these days." She remarked, looking at her own hands in turn.

"It wouldn't surprise me, yes."

"Does it worry you? The operations you may need, I mean?" She glanced up at him, peering through her hair.

"Terribly." To this, she raised her eyebrows. "I see that shocks you," He added with a mirthless laugh. "There are probably many things you do not know about me that would shock you."

"Try me." She challenged, folding her arms across her chest. She hid a smile at his response by form of facial expression. He seemed unsure whether to laugh, or frown.

"Well… I used to sneak bottles of wine from my Father's collection when I was about ten years old. He found out when I had been doing it for three years. I couldn't sit down for days."

Tifa burst into peals of laughter at his punctuating grimace. "You? Stealing wine? Shame on you, Vincent."

"I am not familiar with… drinking games, but I was in the Turks long enough to learn a few. Is it not your turn to share a story, also?"

"Well, for one there is no drink," The laughter seemed to sparkle in her eyes. "And second, I did not agree to anything, and three, perhaps we _should_ wait until later this evening, when we can do it properly."

***

She couldn't explain why she felt excited. Perhaps, she thought, it was something to do with getting to know him. He wasn't just a fearless figure of a man; He lived and breathed as a Turk once, and before that, she didn't know. She felt it would be good to finally learn about him, who he really was underneath that cape of his.

She had insisted he remove it indoors, to kick-start his imminent transformation, and she was rewarded by the handsome sight of his face. Really, if she could get him to have a hair cut she could have a real eye-catcher on her hands. There was something so extraordinary about his amber eyes, so intoxicating about dark lashes contrasting with a pale, sensitive mouth that she felt her heart flutter for a moment. The next few weeks were likely to be quite interesting, she deduced.

"So, we are playing tale-swap, then?" She settled herself on the sofa, setting before them a bottle of amber coloured rum.

"With rum?" He picked up the bottle and turned it in his hand, raising it up to the light.

"Sorry, I forgot you were alcohol's junior prodigy!"

"I'll endure. It is Rocket Rum after all. Might not be so bad." She swore she saw him laugh to himself.

"Ok, so we were on childhood escapades? Well, I think the thing that stands out the most for me was when my dad caught me kissing my boyfriend Jimmy in the woods when I was fourteen. He chased the poor boy for three miles, all the way back to town, wielding an axe!"

His eyes glowed with warmth, even after he stopped laughing, though he seemed to consider her carefully over his glass, swirling the liquid around, Ice cubes clinking. "He was a protective father? I seem to recall Cloud mentioning him, before now."

Tifa's smile slipped away to be replaced by a fond sort of grimace. Vincent wondered whether he should have said anything. "He didn't approve of Cloud." She said after a pause, pursing her lips after a taking a large mouthful of rum and swallowing it with a grimace.

"Sorry to have mentioned Cloud. It was… tactless of me." He cast a glance down at her near-empty glass before returning his gaze to her face. To his surprise, she wore a thoughtful expression, her eyes forgiving through her lashes.

"No, it's alright. I guess it was because my father disapproved that I showed an interest in him at all," She paused, laughing mirthlessly at herself. "Pathetic really. I wanted to prove something, to show him I could make my own choices. Then when I really thought I loved him, when I thought it was real, he'd forgotten all about me."

She was trying her best not to sound bitter. Something in her tone made Vincent lean over to refill her glass, almost past half way. She mumbled her thanks, taking a deep swallow before continuing. "I was always thought to be the strong one; the girl who looked after her father when her mom died, the girl who was an orphan, but who had learned to fight, the girl who stayed behind to take care of everyone, when things were tough," She scowled, almost to herself.

"But you didn't feel that way?" He encouraged, his own drink almost forgotten.

"No…" Her voice cracked, and for a moment she said nothing, staring hard at her glass. Vincent shifted in his seat, unsure. She spared him the awkwardness but laughing suddenly, her face rearranged into the pleasant expression he knew. "Sorry, Vincent; You call me asking for my help, but instead I laden you with my issues! Forget about all that-" She waved her hand dismissively, but he shook his head.

"No, not at all. To be honest, Its good- well, I'm sure you understand I use the word 'good' loosely- to finally see you talking about this," He set his drink down, unsure of where to put his hands. He opted for his knees. "I always knew you put others first, and never let on how you really felt. At least, you are not alone in keeping your emotions locked away. I should know better than anyone."

"Vincent…" She put her drink to one side also, shifting in her seat to face him directly. Her eyes shone with unshed tears, though she wore an expression that was so hardened, and so practiced, that he almost fell for it. "Everyone feels that they suffer some misfortune or another. Mine does not outweigh anyone else's. I just… deal with it myself."

"'But you don't have to, anymore.' Is that not what you said to me, once? Three years ago? I remember it vividly, Tifa, though it has taken me three years to realise you were right." She flushed a little, averting her face.

Obeying an impulse, he reached out to cup her face, thinking too late that perhaps the gesture was a little too intimate. Whether or not she thought so too, he could not tell, for she seemed to lean a little into his touch, eyes half lidded, gaze fixed nowhere in particular. "So, let's talk."

She laughed softly, as he lowered his hand. "Well, where should I start?"

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**Review Please!!**

**xxx**


	4. Chapter 3

**Thanks everyone, for the great feedback! Don't be afraid to be more constructive guys, I write to serve.**

**Sorry this one is short.**

**Hope you like it.**

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The clock ticked persistently. It seemed that since the moment it's sound had entered into his awareness, each tick appeared to amplify in volume, until it became too loud, too unrelenting to ignore any longer. He opened a reluctant eye, the seconds stretching before him as he waited to become accustomed to the gloomy grey light of the room.

Where was he?

He tried to move, when a weight across his legs prevented it; of course, now he remembered. His heart beat became slightly erratic at finding himself trapped in this predicament, sending blood pounding through his veins, his head now beginning to ache.

Exactly how much Rocket Rum had they drank? One quick glance confirmed it- the whole bottle; it was lying on its side, the contents conspicuously missing. He allowed himself a small groan, before returning to the situation at hand, which was this; He suddenly found he was only able to recall finite details of the evening, omitting particularly those which would shed light on how Tifa and himself managed to fall asleep on the sofa, the former across the legs of the latter, wrapped in a blanket and still snoring softly.

Secondly, he wondered what, in the holes in his memory, he may had done or said, though he took comfort (somewhat) in the knowledge that he mustn't have said anything too bad/embarrassing to warrant her current position. Though he cringed a little to think that he had lost control so easily; though when could one, if not with friends?

For that was what she was, he thought suddenly, glancing down at the sleeping woman in his lap. Her hair was pulled into an untidy braid at the base of her neck, her face relaxed still in sleep. She was _his_ friend.

He managed to extract himself without waking Tifa, stumbling into the kitchen on weak legs to make some tea. A swift glance at the clock told him it was early, though late enough to boil the kettle at least. He returned to Tifa's side a moment later, setting her tea down before shaking her gently.

"Tifa, I made you tea."

"Hnn? Vincent?" She groaned as she stretched, groggily pulling herself up into a sitting position. "Did I fall asleep last night?" She rubbed at her face with the palms of her hands.

"It would appear that way," He seated himself adjacent to her, observing her over the rim of his mug. "Do you… remember anything at all about last night?"

"Bits; Why, did I say anything stupid?" Her eyes widened.

"No."

"You don't know either do you?"

"….no." He admitted after a pause. "I appear to be suffering from what I know to be a hangover."

She chuckled a little. "Headache, thirst and nausea? Welcome to the real world."

She hauled herself to her feet and made her way into the kitchen, leaving Vincent nursing his headache in the still-gloomy living room. He groaned in protest as she stripped back the curtains, letting in the sickeningly bright, yellow sunlight.

The smell of breakfast cooking was enough to draw him into the still-brighter kitchen, squinting as he seated himself at her dainty, though slightly wobbly kitchen table. She set down his plate, and they began to eat together in contemplative silence, the only sound being the occasional rustle of the morning paper, as Tifa leafed through.

"So, Vincent," the sudden slap of the folded paper on the table brought Tifa into his awareness with a jolt. Blinking stupidly for a moment, he managed to focus on what she was saying. "… We could go shopping for clothes today, get some fresh air."

"Today?" He responded rather pathetically.

"Why not? It's a beautiful day! Wait… that's why you don't want to go out isn't it?" She chuckled, before draining her glass of orange juice. "Well, tough. I'm taking you, whether you like it or not."

***

"I'm not sure about this," He shuffled uncomfortably in the middle of the clothes store, aware of how out of place he was in the midst of white lighting, shiny tiles and huge mirrors. Tifa laughed her easy laugh, dispelling some of his discomfort.

"I think it will suit you. Compliment your eyes." She placed the green wool sweater in his hands. "We can just buy it, bail, and try it when we get home." She winked.

"Alright, then."

Busy shopping streets never would be his favourite place to be, but with Tifa to guide him, he found he was becoming more at ease. She led him to quieter places, into what she called boutiques, and didn't overwhelm him with a barrage of questions, as he observed other women doing.

Three hours later they were back in the safety of Tifa's house, laden with shopping bags, full from lunch they had had at a quiet Italian bistro. He found that the items they had purchased were much to his taste, and gladly he realised he did not need to return anything.

"I guess its not going to be so hard for you, is it?" Tifa mused, lying on her back on Vincent's bed, as he adjusted the hem of the green sweater. "You really suit that colour. You know, I never thought I'd admit this to you, but…"

"What?" He turned to face her, eyebrows raised at her sudden bashfulness.

"When we first met, in the ShinRa basement, and you were all, you know… Scary, coming out a coffin… I thought, well only for a minute, you might have been a… a..."

"Vampire?" He gave a sly smile. She chuckled in response, flushing scarlet.

"Stupid isn't it?"

"Is it?" He moved quickly, and before she could register it, her arms were pinned to her side by his vice grip, head pushed to one side, her neck exposed. The laugh on her lips died at an unfamiliar feeling in her stomach, as his nose brushed her exposed jaw line. All the while, his eyes were locked on her reflection, watching her reactions.

"Vincent, don't be ridiculous…" She laughed nervously. His amber eyes, on the right side of crimson, flashed wickedly.

"I am not. Being. Ridiculous." With every word, he moved closer, lowering his eyes to her throat. His lips brushed her skin, and she was unable to prevent the shiver of her spine, in reaction to his touch. Her cheeks burned. "You have exposed me for what I really am. I must now kill you."

"Aw, hell, Vincent!" She wriggled free, taking a pillow from the bed and unloading a barrage of hits onto his shaking body.

"You actually believed me for a moment then, didn't you?" He chuckled, arms still raised in defence.

Vincent allowed her to vent her frustration on him for a few minutes more, glad that she was distracting herself from the obvious. He might not be a vampire, but he certainly did have increased sensory perception. He'd felt her skin burning beneath his fingertips, felt her blood racing in the exposed artery at her neck. And he'd felt the tremor of her body at the touch of his lips.

Idiotic, foolish, reckless Vincent.

He would have to be more careful, from now on.

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	5. Chapter 4

**Sorry it's been a while I have been living without internet for weeks in my new accommodation. (Sorry for any errors. Please point them out to me.)**

**Well enough about me, back to the action.**

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"You aren't the first man to walk through our doors wanting a cybernetic hand, Mr Valentine, but you are the first, it seems, to have received one in history!"

The Old Doctor gazed with interest at Vincent's brass arm, turning it this way and that as he squinted through his glasses. Vincent gave a small cough. "Doctor, I think Vincent would like to know the risks." Tifa leant forward in her seat, taking the doctor's concentration away from Vincent for the moment, who took the opportunity to shrink a little deeper into his seat at the distraction.

"Well, I don't think there's anything we can't handle," The doctor chuckled, removing his glasses and placing them into the top pocket of his white coat. "Like you said, Ms Lockheart, it's simply a case of finding out how it works, and how we can replace the old parts with new ones."

"And how much will it cost?"

"Now, ShinRa were a little careless with your files, Mr Valentine, though I was able to dig them out. You are apparently dead, although from your DNA I can conclude that you are most definitely not dead!" He gave a short barking laugh. "The injustices you suffered will allow you to claim the costs back against ShinRa. All I have to do is forward this to the Junon main office, and they can take care of it for you."

"That's excellent!" Tifa shot an encouraging glance to Vincent to her right.

"How long will the… procedure take?" Vincent leant forward in his seat.

"Let me see…" The Doctor, who had introduced himself as Giles Carter, gazed down at a large leather bound book on his desk. "We can fit you in now, for the primary examination. Then the second part of the operation is to remove the panels. Then we make you a new one, based on a mould of your right arm. Then we grow the skin. The entire process should take a few months, give or take a few weeks."

"Are you sure this is what you want, Vincent?" Tifa placed her hand on his metal arm. He was only dully aware of its warmth, the softness of her skin. If he wanted to touch her, he would have to think twice about which hand to use, how not to make it uncomfortable for her. If he were to reach out with his human hand, he would no doubt be fully aware of her skin.

"Yes. I am sure."

Tifa smiled.

"Will your partner wish to be present, for the operation?" Dr Carter raised his eyebrows, string directly at Tifa.

Tifa blushed deeply. "We are just friends. But, If he wants me there, I will." She gazed into Vincent's apprehensive face, thinking how afraid he must be, putting his trust in the hands of more white coats he never would truly trust again, the brave face he was wearing for the better good. "Actually, I'm going whether or not you say so, Vincent."

***

"What?" He asked, incredulous.

"Race me," She repeated, pointing towards the square. Vincent flicked his eyes upwards. Although the evening was warm, and there had been no rainfall in several days, the concrete paving was glistening in the streetlights. Then as water began to erupt from the ground across the entire area, he understood. She wanted to run across the water fountains. Childish, and a little cliché, he couldn't help thinking, but the glow in her eyes was difficult to ignore.

He had managed to sit still through his primary examination. The doctors were optimistic that they would be able to replace his hand without any hiccoughs. He had given a sample of his DNA, and they had taken a mould of his human hand. Three weeks and it should be ready.

They had been for a walk through the city and along the docks, talking for hours afterwards, and he had told her everything; or at least, anything he may have avoided or neglected to mention before. It was just after sundown; the air was warm and a little damp, the sky still burning amber, the sun refusing to surrender to the darkness just yet.

Tifa's eyes were set alight by the fire coloured sky, her hair swirling in the slight wind. He swallowed a lump in his throat.

He gave an indifferent shrug, all the while waiting for the water to stop. "How long do we have to get across?"

"Not long enough probably," She laughed, taking off her shoes.

"Listen, Tifa…" He gazed at his shoes. "I can't think of anything I can do to make you aware of how grateful I am for-" He was cut off by her finger gently pressing to his lips.

"You don't need to thank me. You should know how much you have done for me too. I can finally open up to someone, and it doesn't matter if I cry, or if I get angry. Because… I know you understand." He was blaringly aware of the warmth of her hand, no longer silencing him, now resting on his chest. His heart beat furiously against it.

"You are welcome."

Tifa glanced to her right as the roar of the rushing water seemed to be softening. Casting her eyes back at him wearing a wide smile, she began to run towards them. He followed, aware of her laughter as he began to gain on her. They were half way across now. It seemed to him that it was a lot larger an area to cross than he had first thought. He had also cheated a little, counting the window in which they would remain dry. There wasn't really much chance.

She screamed as the jets began to fire up again, and in a few moments she had ceased running, defeated, her hair clinging to her face and shoulders. His senses were overwhelmed by several things; his shirt clung to his skin, tingling with the cold, the sound of the water roaring around them, and the sight of her. Her clothes were plastered to her body, and if he allowed himself to look close enough, he could see her every curve; the faint outline of her naval, her hip bones, and her shoulder blades.

"Vincent?"

"Yes?" He answered softly, forcing himself to meet her eyes. Something he had never seen before was burning there.

"Does this count as a double lose?"

"I don't think either of us has lost."

***

They returned home to dry off, Tifa's arm threaded through his as they walked. Once inside, she began to peel off her clothes. Unsure whether he should leave the room or not, he turned his back and set to lighting her wood fire.

"You might want to pass me your clothes. I can wash them straight away."

He said nothing, getting to his feet and heading towards the stairs. "I will bring them down in a moment." He didn't look, afraid of what he found himself wanting to see again. If he looked, he would see her, wet skin amber in the newly kindled firelight, flushed from the water, the cold.

He thought about setting the shower to cold, but he thought it best not to make himself ill. Hot seemed to do the trick, though, and now warmed, dry and freshly clothed, he returned downstairs with his clothes. Tifa was wrapped in a bathrobe, seated by the fire, combing out her hair.

They sat together in their usual comfortable silence, taking out their books to read by the fire. A night time ritual; but this time, Vincent wasn't really seeing the words on the page. It took all of his concentration to sit for an hour and not think about her, although he could smell her from where he was sitting; traces of her perfume, that floral shampoo she used, and her skin, an irreplaceable scent on its own.

He shouldn't be doing this. She wasn't ready for anything else, even if she wanted anything to happen. It would be unfair of him to put this added complication into open. She didn't deserve it. He closed his book.

"Tifa, I've been thinking about something recently." She glanced up from her book, eyes widened.

"What is it?"

"I was thinking of… finding my own place here in Junon." She blinked rapidly a few times.

"That's… great! I mean, starting over right?"

"Something like that. It's not that there is anything wrong with your house," Not exactly a lie, he thought. "I just feel that I am intruding on your privacy. We can still see each other, though."

Her smile seemed a little strained. "You're not intruding at all. But I see your reasoning. My home is open to you until you feel you are ready."

That night, he lay awake for hours, listening out for Tifa, as he often did, merely out f habit. She wasn't sleeping either.

***

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	6. Chapter 5

**A new chapter again. I've had no internet for weeks now, so it's a little difficult to update. Thanks to all who reviewed, I found the feedback most constructive. I am trying to make this story a little less angsty than the rest, and I think its working so far. Please continue to leave feedback as you have been, I am very grateful for it.**

**Enjoy reading.**

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A week before his operation was due he discovered a small apartment available for rent across the other side of the harbour from Tifa. He immediately set about finding things to fill it, many things which he wouldn't have even thought to buy if it wasn't for Tifa. She was his saviour; she found him everything he needed, helped him to move it all into the apartment, rearranged all of the furniture, and paint it all, inside of three days. He had an inkling she was doing her best to keep him busy, in the days leading up to his procedure, and for that he was exceptionally grateful.

His old apartment had been nothing short of a jail cell, compared with this. He had never bothered with how it looked, never cared about the dark drapes at the windows blocking out the yellow tinted sunlight, and hadn't thought to take care of it. Midgar had been nothing to him, so why should he care, show any pride in it at all? The only place he could ever really call home was where he was; with his friend. Tifa, who had seemingly out of nothing become his everything.

She could coax the darkest of his secrets out of the depths of his mind, and still not blink, still hold him with the same high regard that she always did. She was always there with a smile, a warm touch, and not to mention her fantastic cooking. She often joked with a chuckle on her part, a secret burning longing on his, that they were like a married couple, and he may as well just admit he lived there too.

But he didn't live with her. He had occupied the spare room for a few months, and had kept what little personal effects he owned within that space. He was a guest in her home, a receiver of her hospitality and care. He'd never liked being so dependant on anyone. Not only due to his instincts for his own survival, but out of guilt. He didn't deserve such treatment from a woman like Tifa. Not when she had her own problems to deal with, not when she was suffering too. Though he told himself that she was most likely as lonely as he was, and her swift acceptance at his request to visit had confirmed that.

He found himself wondering a few too many times why she never seemed to be going out on dates; she was attractive, to make an understatement, and single. He knew of no other woman who could cook like she could, who could warm any numbness with just one smile. So why did she remain alone? He attributed it to his being there. Maybe she couldn't find anyone worthy of her attentions. Perhaps she didn't feel comfortable in bringing men home, in his presence. Was he preventing her from accepting requests for dates?

He shook himself. He should know better; Tifa was still in love with Cloud. She wasn't fickle. She wouldn't simply dance away into the sunset with just anyone, at the drop of a hat. She needed someone who could understand her, read her every facial expression, because she was so adept at concealing her true feelings underneath them. She needed someone who's touch could strip away her every worry, whose voice soothed her, who could make her feel secure and at home.

He wasn't that person. He carried enough burdens to crush them both.

When they had finished shifting the furniture around, to better suit the size of the room, she excused herself, promising to return after she had showered and changed out of her work-worn clothing. She returned to find him reclined in his new sofa, a book pinched loosely between his long pale fingers. She raised a bottle of champagne in one hand, two glasses in the other.

"To celebrate!" She passed him the bottle, to do the honours.

"You have been… fantastic Tifa. I don't know what I would have done without you." She giggled, flushing at his praise, releasing a whoop of laughter as the cork popped, disappearing somewhere behind the sofa.

"Don't be ridiculous, Vincent. We've both been somewhat of a help to each other these past few months, haven't we?"

"I guess you're right."

They finished the champagne fairly rapidly, and Vincent felt obliged to provide something else, as she had often done. Whiskey was his choice of drink, and although she seemed a little dubious, she took a half full glass from him.

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Valentine? I will end up in the sea on my way home at this rate."

"Obviously I will be walking you home. It is not safe for you, especially after a bottle of champagne and Wutaiin Whiskey."

She chuckled. "Always the gent."

"That's right."

"You know something? As much as I dislike the Turks, I often wonder that you would look rather… distinguished in the uniform: like a true gentleman spy." She chuckled behind her hand.

"The uniform hadn't changed a lot since my… incarceration." He seated himself with his glass of whiskey in the armchair adjacent to her. "I haven't worn that suit, let alone any, in over three decades."

"I already told you that those three decades don't count." Her face softened into a smile. Then she tapped her nose with her index finger. "You are thinking I have forgotten." She stood and crossed to his armchair, seating herself on his lap.

"What?" He forced back his blush, unsure of where he was meant to place his hands, nor where to look.

"Today, it's the 31st of October. It's your birthday." She produced from her pocket a tiny silver wrapped box.

"Tifa…" He took it from her delicate fingers.

"It's not much really," She stared at him expectantly, watching him open the small package.

"It's a key?" He raised it in front of his face. A key it may be, though he noticed it hung from a delicate silver link bracelet.

"To my front door. To get in when you like. I don't suppose you'd like to go somewhere to celebrate?"

Overwhelmed by a sudden surge of affection, he placed his hands on her shoulders, in what he imagined seemed like a sort of embrace. "Tifa, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else on my birthday, than with you."

"Oh Vincent…" She slid forwards, her face buried in his neck, the curve of her spine fitting perfectly into the crook of his elbow. "You're sweet." He stiffened, preventing the involuntary shiver caused by her lips moving against his skin. She pulled back to gaze into his eyes. "Is something wrong?"

"Um, I don't want to hurt you with my… metal arm." He shrugged the relevant shoulder apologetically.

"Don't worry about it," She took his human hand between hers, taking the opportunity to fasten her gift at his wrist. "If after your operation, you can't cook or… you can stay with me again, until you're better again. I thought you could wear this on the other wrist, when you get better."

"Thank you." Her fingers were cool from the ice in her whiskey glass, though her body heat seemed to be searing through his clothes. He was hyper-aware of her; everything from her perfume, the scent of her hair, the softness of her skin…

"I'll move, sorry if I was squashing you." He released a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

***

He walked her home, unlocked her door for her with his own key, surprised by the swift kiss she placed on his lips, her arms momentarily locked around his neck, holding him tightly against her.

"Happy birthday, Vincent," She whispered in his ear, stepping inside her front door, and closing it behind her. He walked home slowly, hands thrust in the pockets of his coat, staring out over the black body that was the sea.

His lips were still moist from her kiss. He sucked in his bottom lip, as if to affirm she had ever really done it at all; a delicate taste, though none the less one he wanted to experience again. Tifa Lockheart. The girl with her heart locked away. But she'd given him a key for his birthday…

He laughed suddenly and loudly, closing his hand around the cold metal key in his pocket. How ridiculous, to think she could be… if he asked would she?

He'd sleep on it.

***

The day of the operation arrived along with bouts of nausea, sleeplessness, and cold sweats. He didn't admit any of this to Tifa, as he ate his last meal in the evening, though he suspected she would know already. He pushed the food about the plate with his fork, though he knew he should probably do his best to eat; it would his last chance until after the operation.

"You look faintly green." She remarked, taking a sip of water.

"Oh?" His voice didn't convey the sense of calm he was intending. He swallowed and tried again. "I'm just a little nervous."

Tifa smiled gently, pushing her empty plate forwards, whilst shoving her chair back. She moved behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders, her fingers setting to work to loosen his stiff shoulders. "I'll be with you the whole time. There's no need to be scared."

"I thank you for doing this. I daresay it is pleasant for you to see me like this."

She chuckled. "I've had to deal with much worse, if that is any comfort to you." She pressed her lips to the crown of his head. "Don't worry; I'll be there when you wake up. And when you do, your old hand will be gone!"

"It will take a while to heal the new skin," His mind was running over all of the information the doctor had given him on the last visit to the hospital. "I will have to have a bare metal hand while the synthetic skin fuses."

"Yes, but that won't be long. Two weeks is a small price to pay to have the rest of you life with your new one!"

He closed his eyes, as Tifa's fingers worked miracles, circling at the base of his neck, along the top of spine, then back. "I don't know what I would do without you."

"Back at you."

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**I wish I had someone who was willing to massage me so readily. Excessive writing can lead to hunched shoulders you know?**

**Please review!**


	7. Chapter 6

**The feedback has been great so far, thanks for all the helpful comments I've been getting through (Particularly Mom Calling, Forsterb, Forevermare, and of course, Shtit. Sorry if I missed anyone.)**

**This is a long chapter, I felt you all deserved one! I've been churning these out pretty fast because I've not really had much else on, plus I am really enjoying it! Please review as always, I need to know you all like it.**

**-Jess**

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He had tried maintaining the semblance of reading to convince Tifa he was more relaxed, though staring at the page for ten minutes or so without turning gave him away. She placed her bookmark in at her current page, setting her book down on her lap.

"Is there anything else you want to talk about, before we go to bed? There's not going to be another chance before you go into the theatre."

He swallowed. "Yes actually. If something happens…"

"Vincent…" She tossed the book to the floor, shifting in her seat on the sofa to better face him.

"No, just please, humour me. If something happens…" Did he dare? The doctor said it wasn't a fatal operation… low risks… Just a few hours under anaesthetic. "I… want you to know how grateful I am for everything you have done. You have become the greatest friend to me in this life, and I am honoured to have known you and received your friendship in return. I want you to know that… I would also do anything for you, if you would only ask it of me."

She said nothing, and he couldn't read her facial expression, for she was staring at her folded hands, her long dark hair covering her face. Reaching out a tentative hand, he swept it aside, finding her cheeks glistening.

"Oh Vincent…" She threw herself into his arms, her face pressed into his shirt, her fingers gently stroking his jaw line. He placed a gentle kiss on her crown, and it was there that they stayed, until she fell asleep.

***

Tifa drove them to the hospital in her little red car. The streets were still empty, as the sun was just rising. They said nothing to one another in the morning. Vincent had gone upstairs to shower and dress, then she had been waiting in the kitchen sipping a mug of coffee, fully dressed and wrapped up to ward off the morning chill.

The hospital foyer was spacious, white, and empty, though it did little to dispel his unease. Tifa gripped his hand in hers, leading him through many corridors towards the relevant department. He wasn't paying attention to the direction signs positioned at every corner, so he was grateful Tifa had taken it upon herself to do so. Before he felt ready, they were in a familiar waiting room, greeted by one of the nurses who had performed Vincent's primary examination a few weeks earlier. Vincent nodded at her greeting, and Tifa placed before him the paper work he was supposed to sign. He was surprised he managed to put his name on the line.

Within the hour he was in a hospital bed staring at the ceiling, fists clenched around sweating palms. Tifa was somewhere nearby, talking to the doctor. He was approaching him.

"Good morning Mr Valentine, Dr Carter again to see you." They shook hands. "We are going to get you anaesthetised as soon as possible, so make sure you are ready."

The doctor left, and Tifa took the seat at the side of the bed. "You ready?" She took his hand, holding it tightly. He could see the dark rings around her eyes. She hadn't slept well, it seemed.

"Yes. I suppose I am. Are you sure you want to stay? You look like you need the sleep."

"It can wait. I'll sleep soon enough. Its not a long operation remember?" Her face warmed with her smile, and Vincent felt comforted. A little.

Before he felt ready, a woman wearing green scrubs entered, and his bed was wheeled away into a room that had floor to ceiling shelves filled with different coloured bottles. It was quite distracting.

"Hello, my name is Mary and I am going to be taking care of you in theatre today. You'll begin to feel a little drowsy after a small sharp pain in your wrist. Then before you know it, you'll be awake!" The woman was portly and cheerful, bustling around the room and selecting certain bottles with practised ease.

"This is it now. When you wake up you'll have a new hand." Tifa reached for his metal hand and squeezed it. He could barely detect the pressure.

"Don't concentrate on what we are doing, Mr Valentine. Just talk to Tifa here, we'll be done in no time." A nurse had entered, and Mary began to talk in a low with her, as they leant over his human hand, a syringe at the ready. He swallowed, tearing his eyes away and finding Tifa's.

"I feel like a kid who's having his tonsils out."

"I think you can get away with feeling nervous. It's a little more important than that." Tifa touched his cheek with cool fingers.

"Ouch." He felt a sharp prick in his wrist. Then everything in the room seemed to be swimming. The colours from the bottles and vials began to amalgamate, and Tifa's face started to slip out of focus. "Tifa, I-"

He slipped out of consciousness, the cold metal hand Tifa was holding suddenly limp.

***

He became aware he was dreaming, though his sleep was becoming shallower. The anaesthetic was wearing off at last. He was lying on his back, pinned down by heavy sheets and propped up by many pillows. His left arm was tingling, though after a few attempts he deduced he couldn't move it, due to its encasement in some sort of binding. Sounds started to penetrate his senses; a low continuous beep of a monitor, distant footsteps in the corridors, and someone's shallow breathing to his right.

He forced himself to open his eyes, yet it took a few moments to adjust to the bright light of the room. The curtains were drawn, though around the edges of the fabric, the light was bright. Possibly it was midday, to early afternoon. He shifted his gaze to his right, to find Tifa asleep on her folded arms, resting on the edge of the mattress. Her hair was slightly tousled, and she was snoring lightly. He chuckled, resting his right hand on the back of her neck. She stirred.

"Vincent, you're awake!" She straightened up in her seat, her eyes still bleary from sleep.

"Yes. I assume everything went to plan?"

"They removed it successfully, yeah. Then it took them four hours to fit the new panels. Now the skin is fusing to the nervous system and blood supply. It'll take two weeks to heal."

"Did you stay in theatre?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Yes. It was pretty fascinating stuff, I have to admit." She got to her feet, and crossed to open the curtains, the sunlight bursting in temporarily blinded him. "Though it made me a little squeamish; arms looks… weird without skin." She shuddered at the memory.

"I can imagine."

"Hey, you were about to say something to me, before you passed out from the anaesthetic. What was it?" She leant on the window frame, arms folded across her chest, the bright sunlight bouncing off her hair, almost like a fiery halo, he thought. He still couldn't see her face properly; his eyes had not yet fully adjusted.

"I… I can't remember."

***

The two weeks passed at an irritatingly slow pace for Vincent. Tifa wasn't able to stay the whole time, and he had insisted she didn't need to visit so frequently in her spare hours. On one of her daily visits, she shuffled in looking somewhat flushed and acting cagey, as though she were hiding something from him, though Vincent did his best to refrain from probing.

She chatted about her day; she had been looking around at properties, to convert into a bar. She wasn't going to live above it as she had before, instead owning it, and controlling the expenses and staffing and so on. Vincent listened attentively, giving his input where necessary, though he couldn't shake the sense that Tifa was somewhat distracted.

"Tifa, what is it?" He finally burst out, drawing a deeper blush to Tifa's cheeks.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't try to act as though nothing's bothering you; you haven't looked me in the eye since you walked in an hour ago." Her smile faded, and she swallowed before speaking.

"One of the doctors I met in theatre has… asked me out to dinner." She flushed, gazing at a spot just to the left of Vincent's shoulder.

"And? What did you say?" He tried his best to sound nonchalant, whilst trying to ignore the crushing feeling in his chest.

"I said… I'd think about it." She began to pick at her nail. "His name is John, he was really nice in theatre. He saw I was a bit… squeamish, so he started to show me how everything worked."

Vincent suppressed a wave of anger and indignation at this man using his temporarily lifeless form as a model, by way of flirting with Tifa. "Why didn't you say yes?" He was impressed with the way his voice sounded.

"Well I… didn't want to leave you on your own-"

"Tifa don't worry about me. Go." It took all of his conviction to offer a small encouraging smile. For a moment, he maintained she saw straight through it; her eyes seemed to fill with sadness for a moment, reflecting her conflicting doubts.

"Excuse me?" A tall, handsome man tapped on the open door before striding in, glancing down at his clipboard, and taking a pen from the top pocket of his white coat. "Sorry to disturb you -- my name is Dr John Christian. We've met before, but unfortunately, you were too far under to remember." He gave a short burst of laughter.

He reached out a smooth tanned hand for Vincent to take and thankfully, it was the correct hand for him to shake. He gripped tightly. Tifa shared a quick wide-eyed glance with Vincent, before turning her face to the doctor. Vincent took a moment to examine him; he had brown sandy hair that swept stylishly across his forehead, framing his angular, attractive face. He had a sharp jaw, shiny teeth, and deep blue eyes: Every woman's kind of man. Women fell for types like Dr John Christian, not types like Vincent.

"I see you've been progressing well. Your chart shows slightly accelerated levels of healing for your age, and I think we _could_ afford to let you go a few days early." He scribbled a few notes down on the chart he was no doubt looking at. "I expect you have been feeling tingles and twitches in your new arm?"

"Yes." Vincent subconsciously rubbed at the edge of the bandages.

"Good, that is of course normal. I would expect further discomfort, and an inability to perform complex co-ordinated movements with that hand for a few more weeks. I mean writing, opening cans, stuff like that."

"Yes." He struggled to find anything else to say, so as not to appear irritated. Although, frankly he was.

"You will also find it will take a few months for the keratin in your nails to grow to the same length, and strength as those on your right hand." Dr Christian clicked his pen off, slipping it back into his pocket and clipping the chart to the end of Vincent's bed.

"I can go now?"

"In the morning, yes. Now, Ms Lockheart, I would like to speak to you for a moment, if you please."

He ignored the apologetic glance she shot him from the door before following Dr John Christian out of his room. Jaw clenched, he battled mentally with the idea of following them both out and declaring his love for Tifa, and leaving the god damn hospital for good. But of course, he would never do that. If Tifa was happy, going out with Dr John Christian then he was, in a sense, happy also.

"Vincent?"

"Yes?" He stared at the window, not really seeing out of the murky glass, trying his hardest to unclench his jaw.

"I'm going out with John this evening. I'll come to pick you up from the hospital first thing tomorrow."

"That won't be necessary."

"Vincent? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just go and enjoy your date. I'll walk home tomorrow."

"Vincent…"

"Just go Tifa. Don't worry about me." He looked into her perfect oval face, doing his best to ignore that her long dark lashes were glistening, that her rose pink lips were pulled into a tight line. "Enjoy your evening."

"Thank you." She sniffed, before crossing the room and leaning over to kiss him. Her warm lips pressed against his temple, her hands cupping his face. "I'll be thinking of you." She glanced back at the door, pulling on her blue jacket. Then she vanished from his sight.

"So will I, Tifa. So will I." He let his head fall back onto his pillows, fighting the urge to punch something: He didn't want to damage his other hand.

***

Tifa toyed with the stem of the wine glass before her. It was still full; she was pacing herself before dinner. He'd taken her to a restaurant she wasn't familiar with, in one of the more distinguished quarters of Junon that she rarely had cause to venture into, and it seemed to her to be pleasant enough. Though in her mind, she couldn't help but notice the faults with everything; namely the sly smiles of the waiters when they thought she couldn't see, in a way that _they_ assumed wasn't meant to carry any underlying meaning. The staff seemed to know him, but that didn't surprise her. A good looking and (possibly) wealthy surgeon such as John would most likely dine out with beautiful women every week.

He had excused himself to the bathroom between courses, leaving her contemplating things-- something she had been doing her best not to do for the past several hours. Vincent didn't seem to like John; maybe he saw something in him that was untrustworthy? Vincent did have a knack for that sort of thing. However, when her attempts at not thinking about it failed, she had come to the conclusion that it was probably a little more primitive than that. Vincent was either battling with his protective side, or…

"Sorry to leave you waiting," John slid back into his seat, smoothing down the front of his crisp white shirt. "How are you finding the wine?"

"It's certainly something. I don't usually drink wine, you see." She smiled sheepishly.

"Well, I had you down as the champagne type."

She tried not to think about the last time she had drunk champagne. This was her evening, her date. Vincent should have no place in her thoughts tonight. If he wasn't going to say anything, then it was on his conscience, not hers. "I am known to partake in it once in a while. Though my chief drinks recently have been a little harder than champagne."

"Vodka?" He raised a perfect eyebrow, lounging back in his seat.

"No. Guess again."

"Whiskey?"

"And rum, too." She flushed a little at his mock-disapproving stare. "Don't go all medical on me. It's a date remember? You're not supposed to talk about work."

"Of course, though most women like to ask me about that."

"Maybe I'm not most women." Tifa enjoyed the effect of her cool response on him; he straightened in his seat, adjusting his shirt collar.

"I can see that," He leant forwards, eyes trained on her as he took a sip of the wine. "So tell me; why do you drink rum and whiskey? Is there something you are trying to forget about?" He chuckled.

She pursed her lips. "The answer would be that I used to own and run a bar in Midgar. Living in a city like that, you got to want a hard drink at the end of the day."

"Wow, Midgar, huh? But now you live in Junon, another city that used to belong to ShinRa. What made you choose here?"

"There are few places in the world left that do not hold some bad memory for me. Junon has changed so much since ShinRa ruled the streets; I felt it was a good place to start over."

"Start over?" He frowned a little. "From what?"

"I've had a rough couple of years." She shrugged, leaning back to allow the waiter who had just arrived at the table with their main meals, to place the plate down in front of her.

"Can I ask why?" He picked up his fork, eyes still trained on her.

"You can ask. It'll take a while."

"We've got time."

"Not enough time, I'm afraid. I don't want to talk about my past. I'm happy with my present, and I am grateful for what I have."

"And what about Vincent? What's his story?" Tifa felt her stomach flip a little inside her.

"Its not my place to talk about Vincent's past."

"His arm is quite extraordinary. The mechanics indicate it is over thirty years old. Though he tells us he is thirty five."

"Vincent wasn't so lucky I guess."

"I wonder: who would go through the trouble to remove the skin of a man's arm and merely replace it with the most primitive cybernetics known to science?"

Tifa felt a little sick, placing her fork down on the table. No wonder Vincent had been so dubious about the hospital. "That's none of your business." She was struggling to control her voice; she felt afraid on Vincent's behalf, and disgusted on her own.

"Hey, I only asked!" His eyes widened, fork half raised to his mouth.

"I think I made it _quite_ clear I did not wish to discuss Vincent." She twisted in her seat to retrieve her black cotton jacket from beside her, and also her clutch bag. "Another rule of dating you should be familiar with is to not talk about other men. If you'll excuse me, I think my friend needs me."

To the shock of the waiting staff, the surrounding diners and of course, John himself, Tifa got to her feet and swept out of the fancy glass doors in a whirl of purple. She shivered a little as she power-walked down the clean, well tended streets of the rich Junon quarter, wishing she had chosen something a little warmer than her silk plum dress. It wasn't often, though, she got a chance to wear something nice.

Her jaw was clenched with fury, and after a moment she realised she was crying, her tears cold against her heated cheeks. How dare he? How dare he ask about Vincent's personal life? Surely he couldn't do that? She stormed along the streets, not paying full attention to where she was headed, her mind a whirl of angry thoughts, heels clicking rhythmically.

Looking up from the ground, she recognised the buildings she was passing; not far from where she lived, she was currently in one of the main shopping districts, where she had brought Vincent to buy clothes, and also where they often came to have dinner in the evenings where she didn't feel like cooking. The delicious odour of Italian foods, tomato, garlic and herbs, wafted over her as she passed her favourite bistro, reminding her she hadn't eaten her meal with John, and she was still ravenous.

The evening was still young, perhaps only eight, and the restaurant was full of couples dining on delicious pasta and wine. When she came with Vincent, they would come earlier to avoid this, though she had found herself many a time wishing that they could be a part of the many couples, for a while just two people enjoying one another's company. Not that they didn't enjoy it, though she knew he was uncomfortable in public still, adjusting to the stares of the inquisitive.

Wiping her eyes, she walked past with her face raised to the sky. The stars were out, the moon full and golden over the sea. She hadn't been aware of the sounds of the ocean until now; the rushing of the waves as the water surged powerfully against the rocks, the gentle clang of the buoys somewhere out on the black water, and they all soothed her.

She reached the busier streets, and at the first opportunity, she hailed a taxi. Sinking into the back seat, she gave her destination: The hospital.

**_____________________________________________________________________**

**Review!!**

**xx**


	8. Chapter 7

**I had to resubmit this chapter, as for some reason the website had decided to miss it our and duplicate the following chapter- so whoever is reading this would have missed out the best bits!**

**Enjoy and review.**

The glass in the door which would reveal to her the interior of Vincent's room was auspiciously dark, and it took a few moments of peering through to adjust to the gloom to make anything out at all. In her distracted state of mind, she had failed to realise a nurse had spotted her, and had come to her aid, rubber soled shoes coming to a stop with a squeak at her side.

"Mr Valentine's temporary cast has been removed and there have been a few unexpected complications." The nurse told her in a hushed voice, frowning sympathetically in response to Tifa's face full of crushing guilt.

"When?"

"It was this evening; he insisted we not bother you, and he has been temporarily sedated, to ease his discomfort."

"What complications?" Tifa felt cold all over, even in the stuffy heat of the ward.

"The nerves seem to be taking a while to respond. The doctor is confident we could take blood samples to find out why-"

"Which Doctor?"

"Doctor Christian, Ma'am."

"No, I don't think that is going to happen. I don't want him involved with Vincent."

"I'm sorry, is there a problem?" The nurse lowered her voice, casting her eyes around to make sure they were alone.

"I just don't think he has Vincent's best interests at heart." Tifa opened the door to Vincent's room, crossing quickly to the side of the bed. Vincent seemed to be sleeping, though she knew he was easy enough to rouse. A shake should wake him. "Vincent, wake up!" His head lolled from side to side, and he didn't respond to more vigorous shaking.

"What the fuck is going on? Your doctor has got me out of the way so you can drug him? And take blood samples?" Tifa's voice was becoming hysterical.

"Calm down Ma'am, these are serious allegations you are making! Please take a seat and I will fetch the senior consultant."

"You'd better."

***

Tifa did her best to try and rouse Vincent in the time the nurse was away, though despite her efforts, he barely responded. His breathing was slow, and shallow, typical of sleep, though he was way beyond that. Giving up, she took his hand and kissed it, tears running down her face.

"I'm so sorry, Vincent. I should've known there was something wrong, you trusted me and I'm sorry…"

"Ms Lockheart?"

"Yes?"

"I am the senior consultant, Dr Harding." He didn't offer her a handshake, instead crossing swiftly over to where Vincent's chart was hanging at the foot of his bed, and examining it. Tifa immediately liked him. He was stern looking, though she could see that if his face softened, he would have caring wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He didn't seem especially old; around sixty, though his step and voice possessed a youth beyond his age. "Nurse Hannah, please would you give us some privacy? And bring this young woman a cup of coffee."

When the nurse had closed the door after returning with a coffee Tifa ignored, the consultant switched on the bedside lamp, and began to examine Vincent; prising open his eyelids and examining his pupils will a small pen light, and peering at the IV fluids suspended at the bed side, all the while not saying a word. He grunted, and then pulled the IV out of the needle that was currently in Vincent's wrist, then repeating the pupil exam.

"I always knew Doctor Christian had ambitions, though I was never aware of how far he would be willing to go. Despite my position in this hospital, I was powerless to remove him, for lack of evidence. I thank you for the opportunity to do so, though I also apologise for the pain it is causing you." He removed the thin frames glasses from his face and sighed, suddenly looking older and weary.

"What's wrong with Vincent?" She squeezed the hand she was holding.

"He has been sedated, without precedent, or permission. I knew we had a special case on our hands with Mr Valentine, though despite my efforts, Dr Christian seems to have realised this on his own."

"What was he planning to do?"

"That, I am not sure. Though I imagine he realised that Vincent is not literally the thirty five year old that he is biologically."

"How do you…?"

"I have been alive long enough to see the unfortunate sufferers of Dr Hojo's work, and I have also been inopportune enough to encounter the man himself. Never though, have I seen a survivor. There aren't many people who know what lengths Hojo went to in order to gain test subjects. I can imagine that Mr Valentine displeased him somehow."

"That's right, I guess." Tifa glanced at Vincent's void, expressionless face. _Please wake up soon, Vincent, please…_

"You were right to keep it quiet. I can't imagine many scientists would let a 'specimen' such as this pass under their noses unnoticed."

"Vincent is not a specimen! He is… He's..."

"I know that, Ms Lockheart." Doctor Harding seated himself on a spare chair directly across from Tifa, his glasses tucked into his top pocket. "Rest assured Dr Christian will be removed from this hospital, and if I have anything to do with it, I will ensure he won't find another hospital. I will arrange for Vincent to be taken elsewhere; perhaps your home, or his, and I will _personally_ attend to his care."

"Thank you, Doctor, I can't tell you how glad I am to hear that." Tifa fought back tears.

"Don't thank me. I thank you, and again, I apologise. An ambulance will be ready shortly to take you both home." He got to his feet, and after shredding Vincent's chart into pieces, strode out of the room.

Tifa leant forwards, stroking an imaginary strand of hair out of Vincent's face. "Do you hear that? When you wake up, you'll be home. I'll take care of you this time, I promise." She pressed her lips to the side of his mouth, her tears dampening the kiss. "Oh, I love you, Vincent."

His eyelashes twitched slightly.

***

She volunteered her bed; after all it was bigger, being a double, and would make things more comfortable for him. On closing the door after the paramedics had left him sleeping in her room, she had pressed her back to it and sank to the carpet with a heavy sigh. It would take a while for him to wake up; the sedatives were administered at about six in the evening. She expected he would sleep through until morning.

She undressed and pulled on a loose nightshirt, sliding in-between the sheets beside him. After only a moment's hesitation, she placed her arm across his chest, nestling into him, revelling in his warmth. She'd never been this close, not even while his guard was down, never before had the opportunity to be near enough to smell the delicate fragrance of his skin; Musky, with earthy notes, and the faint lingering scent of the shampoo he used. She allowed everything to overwhelm her senses; she had longed for this for so long now, it was almost too painful to be so close.

She fell asleep with tears in her eyes.

***

Vincent's first thought was that they must have moved him to another ward; there were no sounds of other patients, no babble of voices from nurses, and the bed was more comfortable than any he had ever slept in. His second thought was that it was oddly quiet; too quiet to be any hospital. He opened his eyes, finding he was not looking up at commercial flecked tiling on the ceiling, but a smooth painted one. It was still dark outside, though he could detect birdsong.

Then it occurred to him that there was someone in the bed with him. Glancing down, he found Tifa, her long bare legs protruding from the sheets, her fingers loosely laced through his good hand.

Her breath was steady and warm against his neck, her body radiating heat against him. He calmed his racing heart. He was no longer in the hospital; how long had he been asleep? How had he got here, and why was he here at all? He shifted slightly, suddenly aware of his right arm, no longer bound by bandages. He raised it before his face.

The skin was a perfect match, and it was barely possible to tell the point at which his original skin met the synthetic. The nails were a little sore, having only just grown, and it felt slightly cumbersome and clumsy to try to move, or perform co-ordinated motor movements-- he almost dropped the glass of water at his bedside testing it. But otherwise, it was perfect.

His urge to touch her was overpowering; many times he had wanted to place both hands on her shoulders when she had cried, to cup her face, wipe away her tears with his thumbs. But with one hand, the gesture had never seemed right.

He reached over with his new hand, wavering before touching his finger tips to Tifa's cheek. His senses seemed to explode; her cheek was smooth, her hair soft and luscious between his fingers, her lips warm, slightly moist, parting at the contact, her breath hot. Her collar bones were sharp and hard beneath her skin. He could feel her pulse throbbing at her throat. Her eyelashes quivered a little, brushing the tips of his fingers. His sensory neurons were firing up impulses along his nerve fibres, up his arm, where they converged to his brain.

"Vincent…" Her soft voice attracted his attention. He trained his eyes on her again, propping himself up on his elbow; she didn't seem to be awake, merely mumbling a little, though he sensed her impending return to full consciousness. His throat constricted.

Unable to take his hands away from her, wanting to drink in every part of her that he had been missing all this time, he allowed himself to tuck her hair behind her ear, tracing the line of her jaw on the return journey. Her eyes fluttered open, revealing the beautiful colour of her irises, almost glowing out of the gloom.

"Vincent," She reached a hand up tentatively to touch his face, as if to test he was of real substance. When her fingers found his face, she smiled gently, brushing strands of his ebony hair to one side. He traced her smile with his index finger, followed the line of her neck down to the 'v' of her night shirt. Sliding her fingers to the back of neck and, threading them tightly through hair, she pulled him down to her, warm mouth pressing against his before he could think of resisting. His eyes closed, sighing against her at the contact, pressing his palm flat to her chest. Her heart beat strongly against it. Her lips parted, an unsure, loaded pause of realisation passing between them, before he hungrily returned for more.

Beneath his hands he could feel the cool of the small pearl buttons of her shirt; he would need his other hand for those, although it seemed she was willing to assist him, shifting until she was flat on her back, arching into him, her fingers working quickly in wake of his thoughts. It was as if he was kissing someone for the first time; he couldn't ever remember it like this; electrifying contact of skin on skin, the heat of a woman's mouth on his lips, his neck, and his chest-- surely it couldn't feel so overwhelming?

The fabric was gone, moved aside, and his fingertips found her smooth, firm breasts, the curvature of her stomach, her sharp hipbones, though his brain was able to restrain them there, until he was certain she wanted this. Her lips found his ear, whispering a few words there, before she kissed the spot beneath the ear lobe, where it caused everything vanish around him, until he only knew Tifa, outside and inside; Her fingers tightly locked in his hair urged his mouth to follow where his fingers had started. His chest seemed fit to burst with all the emotions, his desires, broiling under the surface, and Tifa was doing little to discourage them. The heat of her body underneath him was almost unbearable, and he couldn't breathe for a second, at her tightness.

Releasing a deep, shuddering sigh, Tifa arched back, her fingertips doing some exploring of her own, her nails tracing the curves of his back, gripping at his shoulder blades. The sensations of her hips digging in, her skin pressing against his torso were almost enough on their own to send him breathless, and it was a miracle his lungs found the drive to inflate, and deflate. Contract, relax; contract, relax…

The rhythm was strenuous, desperate, and agonisingly incredible, though it didn't seem as much as necessary to pull her close enough, to send her breathing just that little sharper, so he knew she-- was-- going-- to--

--And suddenly it was there, and for a few moments his mind was black and empty, his chest full of something so overwhelmingly beautiful that he didn't know what he could do to stop it; it was almost hurting, battling to get out of him some way or another.

"Tifa, I love you."

Her hands shook a little as she cupped his face again, placing a firm kiss on his forehead, and then holding him tightly, wordlessly, crying out her release.

***

Drowsing in bed like there was nothing else in the world besides Tifa's room, Vincent's eyes were half lidded, enjoying the sudden cool of the sheets that Tifa had taken the liberty to throw over their naked bodies.

"Vincent…" She lay against his chest, gazing up at him. Vincent's fingers toyed with strands of her hair. "That was… I don't know what to say."

"You don't _have_ to say anything." He kissed her gently.

"How about 'that was wonderful'?"

"It was more than that. I've wanted to do that for… so long."

"Really?" She turned onto her front, the sheets draped loosely over her. He traced patterns along her back with his fingertips.

"Well, I was referring to simply touching you," He touched to her lips.

"What about the sex?"

He chuckled. "That too. I guess I wouldn't be much of man if I hadn't thought about sex. With you."

"Oh shut up, you're embarrassing me!" They laughed together, enjoying one another's warmth and silence for a few minutes. "I'm so glad I walked out on John last night," Tifa admitted after a while, shuffling closer, her legs entwined with his. "If I had stayed, or took my relationship with him further I could have risked losing… well, _this_." She blushed a little, taking his hand and kissing the back of it.

"I would have always loved you. I would still have invited you to my apartment to talk and ply you with whiskey, just to have you near. I wouldn't have cared if I had to listen to a thousand break-up or make-up stories. For as long as you wanted to come, I would have been there waiting for you."

"That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. I can't tell you how happy I am right now," She smiled warmly, wiping away a stray tear briskly with the heel of her hand. He cupped her face with both hands, wiping the tears away with his thumbs.

"--and I. You have no idea how it feels to do _this_. For me, being able to just reach out and… it's indescribable."

For what _had_ his life been, before this? Before her?

When did he know he loved her? It occurred to him it had one day just been there, like an unspoken secret, and he had been terrified to even think about it in the privacy of his own mind. He'd been afraid to let anything show on the outside, lest he jeopardise what he already had with Tifa. Why should she love a man like him? He was nothing she had ever looked for, nothing she had ever taken any interest in. He was just a man, a remnant of something old and broken, who had been lucky enough to exist alongside her; a young, beautiful creature, who was just a broken as he was. Who was he to help with the cracks, when he could barely keep himself from crumbling to dust? But slowly, they had come to trust one another, and that trust, along with the comfort, and happiness that had followed, had been the resin.

For Tifa, It didn't matter that for years, Vincent's body was not his own, that he seemed to not fully accept at times that he was human, that he was once part of something she hated. He had been successful where Cloud had not; he had turned his back on his past for good, though it had taken a while, accepted that he was as he was, realised that there were things that he could change, and most importantly, that he could count on his friends. In the past she had maintained the notion that perhaps he hadn't realised how strong the members of Avalanche were bonded with each other.

Until now, at least.

*******

**Review please!**


	9. Chapter 8

**For some reason, this chapter had disappeared, so sorry to those of you who may have missed it!!**

**Review as always!!!**

***

The winter swept in over Junon, coating it overnight in several inches of crisp white snow. The winds battered the streets relentlessly, and few dared to venture out into the streets to brave the bitter cold. One of the brave few, however, was Dr Harding, who came to visit once a week. Vincent's treatment was going well, and after six weeks the doctor was happy to discontinue it, with promise that he would never need to return to the hospital for the same reason again.

"So how different is it, then?" Tifa asked once the doctor had departed into the blustery November evening, setting a mug of coffee down before him.

"Well, at first, it was… exquisite. After living with a metal arm for so long, it was as if I had never had a hand at all, like experiencing everything for the first time. And even now… it's better." He placed his hand over hers as she seated herself next to him. Blushing a little, Tifa intertwined her fingers with his.

"So no regrets then?"

"A foolish question, forgive me. The first time it was available to me… I put it to good use." He pressed his lips to her temple, smiling a little at her shiver. "I feel as if I have left my old skin behind. As if I am a new person."

"That person was always there, Vincent. You'd just neglected him a little bit. I think we did a good job together, of coaxing him out."

"I have you to thank for that."

"No, don't embarrass me!" She giggled, wrapping her arms around him. "You found the courage to come here. I guess that must have been hard for you."

"Actually, Tifa…" He sighed, and leant forwards to face her better, his expression suddenly solemn. "I have a… confession to make."

"What?" Her smile wavered.

"I came here six months ago now, to ask for your help." He gazed hard at the floor, his fingers interlocked before him. The knuckles were white. "I never expected to fall in love with you, the way I did. Perhaps if I hadn't this wouldn't be so difficult to admit."

"Vincent, you're starting to worry me. What is it?" She frowned, sitting stiffly upright. Vincent sighed.

"Even though _my _reason for coming here was legitimate, I can promise you, there was also another reason." His throat constricted. God, this was hard.

"Vincent," She gripped his arm tightly. "Please…"

"Cloud asked me to check on you."

She released his arm slowly, her eyes wide and unblinking, rising slowly to her feet. "Why? Why didn't you tell me?" Her tone was deadly.

"He asked me not to."

"And if he asked you to jump of a bridge, would you?" Slightly hysterical now.

"Tifa please… He had been keeping an eye on you as best he could, but then he came to find me, in Midgar. He… wanted me to check on how you were doing."

"Did you tell him he could just pick up the fucking phone and-"

Vincent raised his hands. "Tifa, I already had this argument with him. It took him weeks to convince me. He was the one who suggested I could maybe get surgery, in Junon."

"So you're trying to say, you came here for your own reasons, not to check how I was doing, because you didn't actually care, or-"

"Tifa, I more than care. I love you. You should know that. I was torn up with guilt about it. But he… He is not there anymore Tifa. He hates himself for what he has become, but he can't change things. He can't let go."

"But why didn't you tell me?" Her eyes filled with tears, wrenching a hole inside of him. He stood, tried to reach for her, but she backed away. Her disappointment crushed him.

"I… I wanted to. I had planned to. But when I saw how much you still hurt, how much you still loved him… I thought it would be for the best. And more recently, I became terrified that if you found out, you would… choose him."

"You think I am _that_ shallow?"

"I wasn't being rational, Tifa I-"

"Please just go."

"Tifa don't do this, I am sorry."

"Go."

He stared into her face, her beautiful, anguished face, wishing more than anything to erase what he had said. Knowing better than that, knowing full well that no amount of wishing could undo the past, he moved with heavy limbs towards the door. A backward glance told him she was still standing in the same place, her back turned to him. His coffee still sat steaming on the table.

"I love you. I'll call you tomorrow. Though I understand if… you never want to see me again."

He waited in silence, sighing heavily when he realised she was not going to respond, before passing out into the night. The wind was bringing with it ice cold rain, burning against his heated skin. Only a few minutes ago was her hand in his, only weeks ago, the lips he had wanted so much to kiss had been pressed against his. Now it had all gone; been taken away from him like everything else. Growling with frustration, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and bowed his head against the cold, marching down the streets towards his apartment. He hadn't been home for a week or so at least; Tifa had insisted he not leave her.

But not tonight.

Shit_. Goddamn you, Cloud._ With his haunted expression and eyes so blue it was sometimes hard to believe. He had sought him out; one dingy apartment amongst millions of others, but he had found him. Begged him to visit her in Junon, practically on his knees. At first, Vincent had gotten angry on Tifa's behalf; shouldn't he be the one to go? Wasn't he the reason she was suffering in the first place? Why should he be the one to go and stick his nose into business that was not his? His place was somewhere out of the way, not trying to pick up someone else's pieces.

But he had given in; _wouldn't you have begged someone else to do the same for Lucrecia?_ He'd almost punched Cloud for that one. How dare he? He didn't love Tifa. And if he did, not near enough as she deserved. So he'd told him he'd think about it.

Staring hard at himself in the mirror that night, shirtless, capeless, his ivory skin golden in the light from a dusty candle, he scowled. Could he hate himself any more? He knew the answer was yes, for doing what he was about to do. If he was honest, he was curious; he hadn't seen Tifa in over a year, and he sometimes found her in his thoughts, if not for a brief moment, he would wonder about her well being. She had always seemed to understand him a little better than the others, even if she never went out of her way to invade his solitude. But yes, he was going to hate himself for lying to her: For doing Cloud's emotional dirty work.

Though part of Vincent pitied the man. He had watched the woman he loved fall into danger, helpless to stop it, just as Vincent had done, years before. They were both misunderstood by many; both never seemed to fit in, wherever they happened to be. But Tifa had shown him, he _could_ fit in. He fit wherever she was, he thought, bitterness filling his mouth with a sour taste.

What would she do now? Would she try to find Cloud? Would she chose Cloud over him, because he'd been there first, been Tifa's only love for many years? Oh god, he didn't want to think about it. First Hojo, now Cloud. Shit, shit, shit--

He reached his apartment in record time, becoming aware as he slid his key into the lock of the shrill sound of his phone ringing. He shoved the door open, kicking it shut before hurrying to answer it.

"Hello?"

"_Vincent._" A soft, male voice.

"Cloud."

"_It's been a long time. You haven't called_."

"I can't do this, Cloud. You can't ask me to. If you're so goddamned worried, come and find her for yourself. She knows you sent me. She won't talk to me."

"_I know_."

"How?" Vincent's chest heaved, his mind working to process the information.

"_She phoned. With your PHS_."

He patted his pockets. Shit. "I must have left it there. What did she say?"

"_I'm not so sure I should tell you._"

"Right. I've had it. Cloud, you are fucking pathetic." If he could have somehow crawled through the phone to wrap his hands around Cloud's throat, he would have. "Its so easy for you to sit back, and wait for everything to fall into place. You knew Tifa loved you, all those years, and you never said a goddamn word."

"_There was never a right moment_," Cloud's words only served to infuriate him more.

"The right moment? Right _moment_? Years, Cloud. _Years_. And I turn up, asking for her help, and I find a woman who can barely live a day without regret. She's never truly gotten over it, but recently I thought maybe she… She and I--"

"No one is asking you to- wait! You mean you and Tifa are-"

"Are..? What the hell is it to you what we are? You sent me to see if she was ok, and she's more than ok, actually. Until I told her the truth, and she's back to the same mess I found her in."

"_She never mentioned you two were… together_."

"Why would she? It's nothing to do with you. But then, of course, it's everything to do with you isn't it?"

"_She told me to stay away from her. She told me she was happy now, with someone else. It hadn't occurred to me that it was… you._"

"She- She said that?"

"_And other things besides. Look- I'm sorry. I didn't know. But maybe it worked out for the best. You took care of her, and for that I will always be grateful to you._"

"Yes, well, thank you," He said stiffly. "Did she say anything else? Only I am trying to work out what I am supposed to do."

"_She said… She was more in love than she thought was possible. And every day got brighter for her since you came. Vince, I know this is rich coming from me but… don't let her get away. Take care of her. Don't throw it away. I chose Aeris, and I live with that choice everyday. I wish I could have given Tifa what she wanted, but I think we all know it wouldn't have been the right thing for her. I asked you to go to Junon because I knew she trusted you. I thought…" _His voice broke momentarily. "_I never thought… I'm happy for you, Vincent. I really am_."

"Cloud…"

"_Go back. Don't let her shut you out. Don't give up_."

Then the phone went dead.

***


	10. Chapter 9

**Ok, tried to come up with something, though I think I am getting to the end of this story, Don't you agree?**

**Let me know what you think. REVIEWS PLEASE!**

* * *

It was raining now. Hard, almost sharp droplets that stabbed at any exposed flesh. He ignored them, breaking into a run, his clothes clinging to his skin. He reached her door sooner than he had anticipated, numb fingers fumbling with the key he wore around his wrist. It slid into the lock with a bit of manipulation, twisting, the tell-tale click resounding triumphantly. He opened the door, stepping inside and shutting it against the perpetual falling rain.

Breathing heavily, he turned to face the living room. The lights were off, though the fire still burned amber. The once-full coffee mugs were overturned, contents dripping onto her carpet. A step forwards gave a crunch; broken glass from a photo frame. He stooped to pick up the picture; an old shot of a tall man with brown hair, his arm around a young Tifa. Tifa's father. Frowning, he stepped into the kitchen, and on finding it empty, he made his way to the stairs.

"Tifa?" His voice sounded wrong and out of place, as if he had yelled a profanity in a cathedral. Something he had actually done, in his youth. He took the stairs two at a time, doing a quick sweep of the landing. The hallway was dark, though there was light coming from underneath the bathroom door. He sighed, stepping forwards and tapping his knuckles on the wood. He received no answer. The brass doorknob was cool in his palm, turned with little resistance.

She was reclined in the bath up to her neck, though her narrow defined shoulders protruded from the water. She seemed to be dozing, a candle flickering from the windowsill. The rain lashing against the window; she probably hadn't heard him come in, over the din. Smiling softly, he crouched, reaching out to touch her. His frigid fingertips found her forehead. Her eyes opened, not shocked to find him there.

"I have been eaten up with guilt for so long Vincent."

"Why?"

She sank a little deeper into the water, her head turned away from him. "You know all of my weaknesses, all of my failures. You knew my feelings for Cloud, and you still accepted me, still loved me regardless. I knew there might come a time when I saw him again, and I worried about what I would say, or do--"

He pressed his fingers to her lips. "You are not alone in your guilt, Tifa. I should not have lied to you. I cannot apologise enough. Though I will say this: Everything I feel for you is real. I have never known anyone quite like you. I never called Cloud to tell him how you were. I was angry too, just like you are."

"I'm not angry anymore. I've spent too many years being angry for the things I couldn't change. My mother's death, my father's death, and then Aeris's." She lowered her head. "She would have known what to do."

"She loved Cloud."

"Yes."

Tifa took his hand in hers, pressing her face to it, as if its coolness were not there. "Like I love you, now. Nothing will change that. Right?"

"Right." She reached for him, arms open, and he leaned over the side of the bath, taking her into his arms. The hot water seeped through the fabric of his shirt, his numb skin tingling. Her lips were pressed against his neck.

"I'm sorry I sent you away. I wasn't thinking straight."

"It's alright now. Everything is for the best. Cloud knows about… us. All he wants is for you to be happy."

She pulled out of his embrace, taking his face in her warm hands, smiling. "You are my everything. I don't know how I managed without you here."

He had often found himself thinking the same thing, many a night laid awake in his apartment in Junon. Was he right to be here, falling in love with a woman, who was in love with the man who had sent him here in the first place? It was all messed up, and made little sense. Why had he even agreed to do this? It wasn't right.

But he realised now, holding her small body in his arms, that it was just the way he wanted things to be. Maybe she always would still love Cloud, and maybe Cloud loved her still. He should be thankful that it was because of that love, that he came here at all.

He took off his shoes, and slid into the water fully dressed, pulling Tifa into his arms to lie against his chest. She giggled a little, kissing his face gently. "You're an idiot."

"That's a shame, because I think you are beautiful."

"Thanks for making me feel bad."

"Any time."

***

It was approaching Christmas, which meant one thing; Avalanche would be together again. Tifa was filled with excitement, though it was burdened by her apprehension. None of the others knew about her and Vincent-- she feared that they wouldn't like it, would get angry with Vincent or-- she was just being stupid, she knew. Barrett would be happy for as long as she was, and no-one would mind, surely. Not that it mattered; it was her decision after all. _Her_ life. _Her_ choices.

Vincent had been fantastic-- dispelling all her doubts, helping with the sleeping arrangements and bookings for the reunion banquet-- but most importantly, she was overwhelmed by the unwavering level of his devotion to her. She never slept alone anymore, and he would always be there when she woke up. There was a smile on his face every day, and a ready laugh for her lame jokes. He was her world, and she didn't believe it was really happening, that she was falling more in love with the man every single day. At night, he would take her in his arms, peel her clothes away like an old skin and make her feel new again, glowing and pure.

The day of their arrival dawned grey, and at a glance, she predicted snow. Vincent made her breakfast this time; toast and jam (damson, her favourite), coffee and an orange at the kitchen table, and she devoured it while pouring over the morning newspaper. He sat reclined across from her, a mug of tea between his pale hands.

"I'm going out to town this afternoon. I have a few things to take care of." he told her, taking a sip.

"Oh?" She raised her brows, glancing up from a rather amusing story about a man in Kalm who had gotten a pan stuck to his head. "What things?"

There was that smile again. "Oh, this and that. I need to collect my suit for this evening. Plus I am getting my hair cut, at last."

Tifa closed the paper. She examined his long ebony hair, which he had loosely tied back with one of her elastics. It probably _would_ make the world of difference. "What did you have in mind?"

"That, I am not sure about. I'll surprise you."

"Nothing too drastic, I don't think my nerves could take it."

He laughed, before getting to his feet and throwing on his coat and scarf. "I may be a while. I need to pick up some things, and then get my apartment ready for Cid and Shera. I will meet you at the restaurant at six."

Tifa glanced at the clock: Eleven. "Sure, if you say so."

His eyes seemed to sparkle. "Listen out for the door later. I love you." He kissed the top of her head, ignoring her curious protests and heading out into the bracing cold December wind.

She found an involuntary grin on her face as she inevitably found herself thinking about him, as she often did in the rare occurrences he was not around. What would the others say to the changes in Vincent since they had last met him? What would Cid say? Then her grin slipped into a smile. She had called Cloud a few weeks ago, apologising to him for her anger, begging him to join them in Junon for Christmas. And she was clinging to the hope that seeing him again would offer her some sort of closure. She'd been planning on what to say, what to do, being tactful of course not to upset Vincent by making him think she regretted her decision. Because there was no way she did.

She passed the time by giving the house a big 'spring' clean, even though it was December. She found dust in places she didn't know could get dusty, and it felt good, cathartic even, to get down on her hands and knees and scrub away at the marks, until everything was shiny and new again. Except for her, she thought with a grim glance at herself in the mirror. Hair sticking this way and that, a black smudge on her cheek from god knows where. She began to run the hot tap in the bathroom, when the sound of the front door opening startled her. She didn't expect she would be seeing Vincent until later.

Taking the stairs two at a time, she bounded into the living room, her shoulders slumping a little at finding the house devoid of Vincent. However, she found a large box sitting innocently on her coffee table. Frowning, she seated herself, taking it into her lap and giving it a little experimental shake. When that proved incapable of enlightening her of its contents, she set about finding a way it.

The box was wrapped perfectly in pink shiny paper, and she felt guilty somewhat for spoiling it. She slid her nail under the sticky tape, and managed to slip out the box from inside. There, she found the flap of the lid. Eyebrows creased with curiosity, she opened it. A sort of flat, square, white box.

Inside, lying on a bed of tissue paper, was a beautiful emerald green dress. She raised her eyebrows, lifting the dress up to the light by its straps. What good taste you have, Mr Valentine. She smiled as she threw it over her arm, and headed upstairs to try and find those damned black shoes.

***

Vincent straightened his tie in the back of the taxi, trying to ignore his sweating palms. Why should this Avalanche reunion be any different from any other? Well, one; Cloud may well be there this time, and two, he and Tifa were now a couple. A couple? He chuckled to himself. It still sounded strange, to consider himself part of something as normal as a relationship. Never mind that it was with former team mate, Tifa Lockheart. Probably the only woman he knew who could knock a man's teeth out.

He paid his driver, and approached the big grey building; the old opera house, now converted into an open plan restaurant: One that Tifa had been looking for an excuse to go to for a while now. A glance at his watch told him he was a little early. He stalled at the front doors, flanked either side by two doormen wearing top hats. To the right of the doors, Vincent caught sight of a familiar figure, his face illuminated by the staccato flare of his evidently broken lighter. Cid.

"Having trouble?" Still the same, though the pilot looked rather uncomfortable in his navy suit, open at the collar, tie loose, cigarettes poking out from the top pocket.

"Shit! Valentine, you still skulkin' around-- whoah!" Having successfully lit the end of his cigarette, he had taken a moment to observe Vincent. "Shit, you lookin' pretty damn swish. What's the crack?"

Vincent coughed a laugh behind his hand. "I had a 'life makeover'."

"Whatever that is. Listen, I seen Cloud inside, talking to Tif."

"Yes, I was aware he was coming."

"Hm." Cid blew out smoke, the blue-grey tendrils recoiling from the bitter cold of the December evening. "So, you livin' in Junon now?"

"Yes. It has been about eight months now, I believe."

"Right. You see much of Tifa?"

Vincent grinned despite himself. Cid raised his eyebrows. "I guess you could say that."

***

Tifa was waiting at the shiny topped bar when his hand came to rest on her shoulder. She turned, her heart doing an involuntary flip at seeing him. Still the same disorderly blonde hair, the same beautiful eyes, the same troubled expression. Though it seemed he was to a certain degree, happy to see her. A gentle, abashed smile graced his lips, and for a moment she forgot about everything they had gone through, and was taken back to her childhood. A time she had shared exclusively with him.

"Tifa, you look… wonderful."

He examined her briefly; her curvaceous figure hugged by a beautiful green dress, her glowing face, framed by heavy chocolate curls, her eyes reflecting the intimate glow of the bar lights. Definitely a change.

"Thank you. You look handsome in a suit, Cloud." She gave a nervous laugh.

"Look, I--" Tifa raised her hand, a soft, understanding smile on her lips.

"Cloud, I don't want any more apologies. Everything has been laid to rest now."

He nodded, secretly relieved. It would be nice, for once, to simply be with his friends. He caught the bar man's attention and ordered Tifa the cocktail she had been debating about. He raised his eyebrows at the array of coloured liquids separated in the tall glass. She retaliated with a mock-scowl, taking an experimental sip from her straw.

"You know, it's not as bad as you think. We should find the others."

He placed a hand on the small of her back, leading her past rows of tables and potted plants towards a set of stairs. At the top, she found the rest of the members of Avalanche, bar Vincent. Cid greeted her first, the scent of tobacco and engine oil enveloping her long before he had gripped her tightly in his perfunctory one armed hug.

"How the hell are ya? S'cuse me, I gotta smoke." She watched him saunter off, back down the stairs. She greeted everyone else, congratulating Shera on her round stomach and Yuffie, on the attractive young man she had brought along. Marlene gave her the longest embrace, the top of her head now up to Tifa's shoulder.

"I've missed you Marlene, you should definitely come and stay with me more often next year." Marlene was now twelve, and Tifa could see the kind of woman she was inevitably going to become; tall, long brown curls, an open, honest, rounded face with beautiful symmetrical features. Not to mention those warm amber eyes. Not unlike hers, when she came to think about it.

"I'd like that," She nodded earnestly, curls bouncing about her face. "Is Vinnie here?" She gazed past Tifa's shoulder, as if she had somehow missed him. Tifa smiled. Marlene had taken it upon herself to befriend the quiet, intimidating man that had been the Vincent of the past. At least she could be confident that one person would approve.

"I'm not sure. I haven't seen him yet."

Tifa seated herself with her back to the stairs, making sure there was an empty seat beside her, for when Vincent arrived. Marlene seated herself on Tifa's right, listening intently to her conversation with Cloud. Tifa didn't blame her for her curiosity; she was positive everyone else was wondering what had brought Cloud here, and why in such seemingly good spirits.

"Tifa? You didn't mention that anyone else was coming," Yuffie giggled, leaning over the table to talk in a whisper, glancing over Tifa with twinkling eyes. "There's a guy coming over here with Cid, and he's--- oh!"

Tifa twisted around in her seat, immediately feeling her cheeks heat at the sight of him. Damn, he did look good in a suit. And with shorter hair… this dinner was going to drag.

"Sorry, I'm late, got talking to Cid." Vincent's face was smooth, expressionless, as he seated himself beside Tifa, gazing openly into the nonplussed faces of Avalanche. He folded his hands on the table.

"Shit--- is that you Vince? What happened to your old arm?" Barrett scratched his head.

"I had a new one grafted. Cloud suggested I have the procedure done. So I looked Tifa up in Junon." He glanced at her briefly, though in that moment she thought she saw something burning behind the fleeting look. She covered her mouth to hide her sudden urge to giggle.

"Wow. So you decided to stay?" Marlene had reached over for his hand, turning it this way and that, examining it carefully. "I'll bet Tifa was glad of a familiar face."

"Gotta say, looking good, Turk." Barret conceded gruffly, folding his huge arms across his chest. "You'd never think you was the same man we found."

"That was the intention," he smiled weakly. "I have Tifa to thank for everything, really. I wouldn't have been able to do it without her." Tifa felt her heart flip as his hand closed over hers on top of the table. When he didn't remove it, she realised his intention. Threading her fingers through his, she felt the blush creep up her neck under the scrutiny.

"Well… I'll be damned." Barrett laughed hoarsely, punching the table. Tifa thought she heard the wood splinter a little. The unlit cigarette pinched between Cid's lips twitched. Marlene threw her arms around Vincent's neck, congratulating him.

Cloud smiled softly at the top of the stairs, looking back for a moment before tucking his hands it his pockets. He needed some fresh air.

***

The meal went without further hiccoughs, and Tifa was filled with relief that her friends had accepted Vincent so readily. Although, she thought, there wasn't really any reason why they wouldn't have in the first place.

They were walking along the pier, her small group of friends, a collection of people so diverse, from all walks of life, all corners of the world, once united under a common cause; now united in a bond of friendship that would undoubtedly last a life time. Her arm was threaded through Vincent's as they walked a little ahead of everyone else, leading the way back to her house.

"You didn't tell me."

"Tell you…?" Vincent creased his brow, looking down at her.

"You were going to look so… irresistible."

"I do not think that is a word I would readily use to describe myself, Tifa." He chuckled.

"Hm. Well you do." His dark hair was brushed to one side of his forehead, the longest parts coming to cover his ears. The suit he wore was a deep grey, beneath which he wore a dark green shirt and a black tie.

"I couldn't think of anything else. This was what my hair would have been like, before I was… imprisoned."

"Oh. Turk-style?"

"That's right. You said you wanted to see me in a suit. I thought I would surprise you."

"I appreciate that. Though it's not fair; we have a house of guests this evening. No fun." She pouted at him.

"Well, that's why I took certain liberties. I couldn't have you looking so… wonderful, and not being able to… well. So I booked a hotel room."

"Vincent!"

"What? You can't tell me you don't intend to use it."

"No. You're right." She pulled him to a stop and kissed him firmly, ignoring Cid and Barrett's drunken jibes and cat calls. She pulled back, pressing her forehead to his, still holding his close by the lapels of his jacket. "I love you."

He smiled, sweeping her hair back away from her face, tracing the lines of her smile with his fingers tips. "And I love you. More than you will ever know. You ridiculous, childish, wonderful woman."

***

She was itching to get his clothes off, and no sooner had he shut the door of their rather sophisticated hotel room before she was there, fingers sliding underneath the folds of his jacket.

"Tifa, wait."

"Is something wrong?" She refrained from loosening his tie.

"Well, I'm not sure, but I wanted to tell you the real reason I was away for so long this afternoon."

She frowned. "I hope it had nothing to do with Cloud."

"No." His eyebrows knitted together, as he shrugged his suit jacket from his shoulders and seated himself on the edge of the bed. Something in the way he ran his fingers across his forehead made her forget her irritation, and move to sit behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders, gently rubbing the tense muscles there. He seemed to relax a little, tugging his tie free, tossing it to the floor.

"I should have told you before but… I went to the hospital. to see Dr Harding."

"About your arm? I thought everything was alright?"

"It is. This was for… another reason." He laughed through his nose. "I never thought it would bother me, my ability to… have children. But recent developments have at last, made me question it."

"Children?" She felt a swell of fondness in her chest.

"Back when I was exposed to Mako, there were more… serious, unknown side effects. Long term; it wasn't until twenty years ago that the process was refined to amend some of them. One of these was… sterility."

"Oh, Vincent…" She slipped her shoes off, curling up on the bed behind him, fingertips trailing absently along the base of his spine. He shifted around, his back against the pillows, legs crossed at the ankles.

"I guess I just wanted to know. If… in case you… ever asked." He flushed a little.

"Of course. I guess it is natural of you to want to know."

"Well, I gave a sample, if you follow. I'm waiting on the results."

"And what if you are unable to have children?"

"There are drugs, though it isn't really known if they work. After all, I was essentially propelled thirty years into the future. I carry with me remnants of the past's scientific throw-ups and failures."

"Vincent… Did you… Were you thinking I would want children?"

"I would assume any woman would, at some point in her life." He glanced at her, eyebrows raised.

"I guess so. I hadn't really thought about it. More recently I was more concerned with the 'finding the love of my life' part. Children will come later."

"I see. Well, it can't hurt to know. Then I can maybe do something about it." He twisted and untwisted his fingers in his lap agitatedly.

"If the drugs don't work?"

"Then… it will be what it will be."

Something in his face made something click in her mind. "You are worried I would love you less, if you would be unable to father our children?"

"It's an irrational fear perhaps. Though it is there nonetheless."

"Vincent, you idiot." She raised herself up onto her elbow, to observe him better. She noticed, with a pang in her chest, that his eyes looked dangerously like they were filled with tears. Scrambling to a crouching position, she pulled him into her lap, stroking his hair back away from his face. "I will always love you. You are too special to me to throw away our relationship, because of something that isn't your fault!"

"Be that as it may--"

"No! If we want a baby that badly, we can adopt or--or we could go to a sperm bank, Vincent I am _not_ going to lose you!"

He smiled up at her, a few tears leaking to trail down his cheeks. "Call me old fashioned, but... When I was younger, I always wanted kids."

"Really?"

"Hm. I've been attached to the idea ever since. A small form, half me, half… you, growing in your belly. And it would be ours." A strand of her hair had worked loose of the rough twist she had worked it into, falling forwards to caress his face.

She giggled a little, a lump rising in her throat as she tucked it back behind her ear hastily. "Honestly, that's…"

"--Weird?" He laughed, wiping the tears away with the heel of his hand.

"No, it's sweet! I would never have you down at the father type. Not that I don't think you would make a great one," She hastily added. "Well, when do you get results?"

"In two weeks. Then if I am sterile, or have a low count, then they can give me drugs, I assume. And if they work, then great. If not, when it comes, I… we can deal with it."

"I'll go with you."

"I appreciate that." They stayed still for a while, Vincent almost lulled into slumber by the gentle rhythm of Tifa's fingers trailing through his hair. "I think, without you, I would still be a ghost of a man."

"And without you, I wouldn't be sure what I was at all." She shifted her body around, so they were entwined inversely, like Pisces, fingers interlaced, gazes locked on one another.

And that's how they fell asleep.


	11. Chapter 10

**Ok, new chapter. Look out for the AN at the end of this chapter. I love you, my readers, thanks for everything. Help me push up those review numbers- it gets more people on board!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

It was approaching Christmas, which meant one thing; Avalanche would be together again. Tifa was filled with excitement, though it was burdened by her apprehension. None of the others knew about her and Vincent-- she feared that they wouldn't like it, would get angry with Vincent or-- she was just being stupid, she knew. Barrett would be happy for as long as she was, and no-one would mind, surely. Not that it mattered; it was her decision after all. _Her_ life. _Her_ choices.

Vincent had been fantastic-- dispelling all her doubts, helping with the sleeping arrangements and bookings for the reunion banquet-- but most importantly, she was overwhelmed by the unwavering level of his devotion to her. She never slept alone anymore, and he would always be there when she woke up. There was a smile on his face every day, and a ready laugh for her lame jokes. He was her world, and she didn't believe it was really happening, that she was falling more in love with the man every single day. At night, he would take her in his arms, peel her clothes away like an old skin and make her feel new again, glowing and pure.

The day of their arrival dawned grey, and at a glance, she predicted snow. Vincent made her breakfast this time; toast and jam (damson, her favourite), coffee and an orange at the kitchen table, and she devoured it while pouring over the morning newspaper. He sat reclined across from her, a mug of tea between his pale hands.

"I'm going out to town this afternoon. I have a few things to take care of." he told her, taking a sip.

"Oh?" She raised her brows, glancing up from a rather amusing story about a man in Kalm who had gotten a pan stuck to his head. "What things?"

There was that smile again. "Oh, this and that. I need to collect my suit for this evening. Plus I am getting my hair cut, at last."

Tifa closed the paper. She examined his long ebony hair, which he had loosely tied back with one of her elastics. It probably _would_ make the world of difference. "What did you have in mind?"

"That, I am not sure about. I'll surprise you."

"Nothing too drastic, I don't think my nerves could take it."

He laughed, before getting to his feet and throwing on his coat and scarf. "I may be a while. I need to pick up some things, and then get my apartment ready for Cid and Shera. I will meet you at the restaurant at six."

Tifa glanced at the clock: Eleven. "Sure, if you say so."

His eyes seemed to sparkle. "Listen out for the door later. I love you." He kissed the top of her head, ignoring her curious protests and heading out into the bracing cold December wind.

She found an involuntary grin on her face as she inevitably found herself thinking about him, as she often did in the rare occurrences he was not around. What would the others say to the changes in Vincent since they had last met him? What would Cid say? Then her grin slipped into a smile. She had called Cloud a few weeks ago, apologising to him for her anger, begging him to join them in Junon for Christmas. And she was clinging to the hope that seeing him again would offer her some sort of closure. She'd been planning on what to say, what to do, being tactful of course not to upset Vincent by making him think she regretted her decision. Because there was no way she did.

She passed the time by giving the house a big 'spring' clean, even though it was December. She found dust in places she didn't know could get dusty, and it felt good, cathartic even, to get down on her hands and knees and scrub away at the marks, until everything was shiny and new again. Except for her, she thought with a grim glance at herself in the mirror. Hair sticking this way and that, a black smudge on her cheek from god knows where. She began to run the hot tap in the bathroom, when the sound of the front door opening startled her. She didn't expect she would be seeing Vincent until later.

Taking the stairs two at a time, she bounded into the living room, her shoulders slumping a little at finding the house devoid of Vincent. However, she found a large box sitting innocently on her coffee table. Frowning, she seated herself, taking it into her lap and giving it a little experimental shake. When that proved incapable of enlightening her of its contents, she set about finding a way it.

The box was wrapped perfectly in pink shiny paper, and she felt guilty somewhat for spoiling it. She slid her nail under the sticky tape, and managed to slip out the box from inside. There, she found the flap of the lid. Eyebrows creased with curiosity, she opened it. A sort of flat, square, white box.

Inside, lying on a bed of tissue paper, was a beautiful emerald green dress. She raised her eyebrows, lifting the dress up to the light by its straps. What good taste you have, Mr Valentine. She smiled as she threw it over her arm, and headed upstairs to try and find those damned black shoes.

***

Vincent straightened his tie in the back of the taxi, trying to ignore his sweating palms. Why should this Avalanche reunion be any different from any other? Well, one; Cloud may well be there this time, and two, he and Tifa were now a couple. A couple? He chuckled to himself. It still sounded strange, to consider himself part of something as normal as a relationship. Never mind that it was with former team mate, Tifa Lockheart. Probably the only woman he knew who could knock a man's teeth out.

He paid his driver, and approached the big grey building; the old opera house, now converted into an open plan restaurant: One that Tifa had been looking for an excuse to go to for a while now. A glance at his watch told him he was a little early. He stalled at the front doors, flanked either side by two doormen wearing top hats. To the right of the doors, Vincent caught sight of a familiar figure, his face illuminated by the staccato flare of his evidently broken lighter. Cid.

"Having trouble?" Still the same, though the pilot looked rather uncomfortable in his navy suit, open at the collar, tie loose, cigarettes poking out from the top pocket.

"Shit! Valentine, you still skulkin' around-- whoah!" Having successfully lit the end of his cigarette, he had taken a moment to observe Vincent. "Shit, you lookin' pretty damn swish. What's the crack?"

Vincent coughed a laugh behind his hand. "I had a 'life makeover'."

"Whatever that is. Listen, I seen Cloud inside, talking to Tif."

"Yes, I was aware he was coming."

"Hm." Cid blew out smoke, the blue-grey tendrils recoiling from the bitter cold of the December evening. "So, you livin' in Junon now?"

"Yes. It has been about eight months now, I believe."

"Right. You see much of Tifa?"

Vincent grinned despite himself. Cid raised his eyebrows. "I guess you could say that."

***

Tifa was waiting at the shiny topped bar when his hand came to rest on her shoulder. She turned, her heart doing an involuntary flip at seeing him. Still the same disorderly blonde hair, the same beautiful eyes, the same troubled expression. Though it seemed he was to a certain degree, happy to see her. A gentle, abashed smile graced his lips, and for a moment she forgot about everything they had gone through, and was taken back to her childhood. A time she had shared exclusively with him.

"Tifa, you look… wonderful."

He examined her briefly; her curvaceous figure hugged by a beautiful green dress, her glowing face, framed by heavy chocolate curls, her eyes reflecting the intimate glow of the bar lights. Definitely a change.

"Thank you. You look handsome in a suit, Cloud." She gave a nervous laugh.

"Look, I--" Tifa raised her hand, a soft, understanding smile on her lips.

"Cloud, I don't want any more apologies. Everything has been laid to rest now."

He nodded, secretly relieved. It would be nice, for once, to simply be with his friends. He caught the bar man's attention and ordered Tifa the cocktail she had been debating about. He raised his eyebrows at the array of coloured liquids separated in the tall glass. She retaliated with a mock-scowl, taking an experimental sip from her straw.

"You know, it's not as bad as you think. We should find the others."

He placed a hand on the small of her back, leading her past rows of tables and potted plants towards a set of stairs. At the top, she found the rest of the members of Avalanche, bar Vincent. Cid greeted her first, the scent of tobacco and engine oil enveloping her long before he had gripped her tightly in his perfunctory one armed hug.

"How the hell are ya? S'cuse me, I gotta smoke." She watched him saunter off, back down the stairs. She greeted everyone else, congratulating Shera on her round stomach and Yuffie, on the attractive young man she had brought along. Marlene gave her the longest embrace, the top of her head now up to Tifa's shoulder.

"I've missed you Marlene, you should definitely come and stay with me more often next year." Marlene was now twelve, and Tifa could see the kind of woman she was inevitably going to become; tall, long brown curls, an open, honest, rounded face with beautiful symmetrical features. Not to mention those warm amber eyes. Not unlike hers, when she came to think about it.

"I'd like that," She nodded earnestly, curls bouncing about her face. "Is Vinnie here?" She gazed past Tifa's shoulder, as if she had somehow missed him. Tifa smiled. Marlene had taken it upon herself to befriend the quiet, intimidating man that had been the Vincent of the past. At least she could be confident that one person would approve.

"I'm not sure. I haven't seen him yet."

Tifa seated herself with her back to the stairs, making sure there was an empty seat beside her, for when Vincent arrived. Marlene seated herself on Tifa's right, listening intently to her conversation with Cloud. Tifa didn't blame her for her curiosity; she was positive everyone else was wondering what had brought Cloud here, and why in such seemingly good spirits.

"Tifa? You didn't mention that anyone else was coming," Yuffie giggled, leaning over the table to talk in a whisper, glancing over Tifa with twinkling eyes. "There's a guy coming over here with Cid, and he's--- oh!"

Tifa twisted around in her seat, immediately feeling her cheeks heat at the sight of him. Damn, he did look good in a suit. And with shorter hair… this dinner was going to drag.

"Sorry, I'm late, got talking to Cid." Vincent's face was smooth, expressionless, as he seated himself beside Tifa, gazing openly into the nonplussed faces of Avalanche. He folded his hands on the table.

"Shit--- is that you Vince? What happened to your old arm?" Barrett scratched his head.

"I had a new one grafted. Cloud suggested I have the procedure done. So I looked Tifa up in Junon." He glanced at her briefly, though in that moment she thought she saw something burning behind the fleeting look. She covered her mouth to hide her sudden urge to giggle.

"Wow. So you decided to stay?" Marlene had reached over for his hand, turning it this way and that, examining it carefully. "I'll bet Tifa was glad of a familiar face."

"Gotta say, looking good, Turk." Barret conceded gruffly, folding his huge arms across his chest. "You'd never think you was the same man we found."

"That was the intention," he smiled weakly. "I have Tifa to thank for everything, really. I wouldn't have been able to do it without her." Tifa felt her heart flip as his hand closed over hers on top of the table. When he didn't remove it, she realised his intention. Threading her fingers through his, she felt the blush creep up her neck under the scrutiny.

"Well… I'll be damned." Barrett laughed hoarsely, punching the table. Tifa thought she heard the wood splinter a little. The unlit cigarette pinched between Cid's lips twitched. Marlene threw her arms around Vincent's neck, congratulating him.

Cloud smiled softly at the top of the stairs, looking back for a moment before tucking his hands it his pockets. He needed some fresh air.

***

The meal went without further hiccoughs, and Tifa was filled with relief that her friends had accepted Vincent so readily. Although, she thought, there wasn't really any reason why they wouldn't have in the first place.

They were walking along the pier, her small group of friends, a collection of people so diverse, from all walks of life, all corners of the world, once united under a common cause; now united in a bond of friendship that would undoubtedly last a life time. Her arm was threaded through Vincent's as they walked a little ahead of everyone else, leading the way back to her house.

"You didn't tell me."

"Tell you…?" Vincent creased his brow, looking down at her.

"You were going to look so… irresistible."

"I do not think that is a word I would readily use to describe myself, Tifa." He chuckled.

"Hm. Well you do." His dark hair was brushed to one side of his forehead, the longest parts coming to cover his ears. The suit he wore was a deep grey, beneath which he wore a dark green shirt and a black tie.

"I couldn't think of anything else. This was what my hair would have been like, before I was… imprisoned."

"Oh. Turk-style?"

"That's right. You said you wanted to see me in a suit. I thought I would surprise you."

"I appreciate that. Though it's not fair; we have a house of guests this evening. No fun." She pouted at him.

"Well, that's why I took certain liberties. I couldn't have you looking so… wonderful, and not being able to… well. So I booked a hotel room."

"Vincent!"

"What? You can't tell me you don't intend to use it."

"No. You're right." She pulled him to a stop and kissed him firmly, ignoring Cid and Barrett's drunken jibes and cat calls. She pulled back, pressing her forehead to his, still holding his close by the lapels of his jacket. "I love you."

He smiled, sweeping her hair back away from her face, tracing the lines of her smile with his fingers tips. "And I love you. More than you will ever know. You ridiculous, childish, wonderful woman."

***

She was itching to get his clothes off, and no sooner had he shut the door of their rather sophisticated hotel room before she was there, fingers sliding underneath the folds of his jacket.

"Tifa, wait."

"Is something wrong?" She refrained from loosening his tie.

"Well, I'm not sure, but I wanted to tell you the real reason I was away for so long this afternoon."

She frowned. "I hope it had nothing to do with Cloud."

"No." His eyebrows knitted together, as he shrugged his suit jacket from his shoulders and seated himself on the edge of the bed. Something in the way he ran his fingers across his forehead made her forget her irritation, and move to sit behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders, gently rubbing the tense muscles there. He seemed to relax a little, tugging his tie free, tossing it to the floor.

"I should have told you before but… I went to the hospital. to see Dr Harding."

"About your arm? I thought everything was alright?"

"It is. This was for… another reason." He laughed through his nose. "I never thought it would bother me, my ability to… have children. But recent developments have at last, made me question it."

"Children?" She felt a swell of fondness in her chest.

"Back when I was exposed to Mako, there were more… serious, unknown side effects. Long term; it wasn't until twenty years ago that the process was refined to amend some of them. One of these was… sterility."

"Oh, Vincent…" She slipped her shoes off, curling up on the bed behind him, fingertips trailing absently along the base of his spine. He shifted around, his back against the pillows, legs crossed at the ankles.

"I guess I just wanted to know. If… in case you… ever asked." He flushed a little.

"Of course. I guess it is natural of you to want to know."

"Well, I gave a sample, if you follow. I'm waiting on the results."

"And what if you are unable to have children?"

"There are drugs, though it isn't really known if they work. After all, I was essentially propelled thirty years into the future. I carry with me remnants of the past's scientific throw-ups and failures."

"Vincent… Did you… Were you thinking I would want children?"

"I would assume any woman would, at some point in her life." He glanced at her, eyebrows raised.

"I guess so. I hadn't really thought about it. More recently I was more concerned with the 'finding the love of my life' part. Children will come later."

"I see. Well, it can't hurt to know. Then I can maybe do something about it." He twisted and untwisted his fingers in his lap agitatedly.

"If the drugs don't work?"

"Then… it will be what it will be."

Something in his face made something click in her mind. "You are worried I would love you less, if you would be unable to father our children?"

"It's an irrational fear perhaps. Though it is there nonetheless."

"Vincent, you idiot." She raised herself up onto her elbow, to observe him better. She noticed, with a pang in her chest, that his eyes looked dangerously like they were filled with tears. Scrambling to a crouching position, she pulled him into her lap, stroking his hair back away from his face. "I will always love you. You are too special to me to throw away our relationship, because of something that isn't your fault!"

"Be that as it may--"

"No! If we want a baby that badly, we can adopt or--or we could go to a sperm bank, Vincent I am _not_ going to lose you!"

He smiled up at her, a few tears leaking to trail down his cheeks. "Call me old fashioned, but... When I was younger, I always wanted kids."

"Really?"

"Hm. I've been attached to the idea ever since. A small form, half me, half… you, growing in your belly. And it would be ours." A strand of her hair had worked loose of the rough twist she had worked it into, falling forwards to caress his face.

She giggled a little, a lump rising in her throat as she tucked it back behind her ear hastily. "Honestly, that's…"

"--Weird?" He laughed, wiping the tears away with the heel of his hand.

"No, it's sweet! I would never have you down at the father type. Not that I don't think you would make a great one," She hastily added. "Well, when do you get results?"

"In two weeks. Then if I am sterile, or have a low count, then they can give me drugs, I assume. And if they work, then great. If not, when it comes, I… we can deal with it."

"I'll go with you."

"I appreciate that." They stayed still for a while, Vincent almost lulled into slumber by the gentle rhythm of Tifa's fingers trailing through his hair. "I think, without you, I would still be a ghost of a man."

"And without you, I wouldn't be sure what I was at all." She shifted her body around, so they were entwined inversely, like Pisces, fingers interlaced, gazes locked on one another.

And that's how they fell asleep.

***

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**Ok, scrap the freakin' epilogue. I've thought of something else. I'm going to continue this! I'm attached to it now, goddamn it!**

**Hope you all are too.**

**Noticed a few more people sneaking on board with this story I haven't seen before- as in they have been mean, and not reviewed. Remember, criticism and praise are what helps me to find where I am going wrong/right, and I can then adjust stuff accordingly. I know you are there, so please, please review.**

**Or the bad leprechauns will come out. And they will find you.**


	12. Chapter 11

**I think there is going to be only a few more chapters of this one, so please get your reviews in now!**

**Sorry it's taken me so long to write more of this one, and it seems purely by chance I have written a seasonal chapter.**

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Tifa collapsed on the bed, hands coming to rest on her swollen stomach, breathing deeply. "I can't believe it…"

Vincent grinned to himself as he closed the door, shaking off his coat and crossing to the room's only window. Snow was falling in rapid flurries outside, little piles of it lining each of the glass panels of the window. Past the frozen panes, he could make out the sea of pine trees, coated with white, the little white lights blinking pathetically underneath their blanket of snow. Icicle town truly was something to behold at Christmas.

It was just over a year since his operation; the scar tissue had faded to barely a white mark, and he had gained full dexterity in it. Tifa had put him to good use, not allowing the opportunity for a pair of good working hands to go to waste; they had painted her house from top to bottom, shifted about furniture, moving Vincent's few belongings from his apartment to her house. They saw little point in living apart, after everything. He'd had no reservations about it either.

"You mean you can't believe how many times you fell on your backside snowboarding? Or how many pastries you managed to eat? Because for both, I can't believe it either-" He dodged a pillow Tifa had hurled at his head.

"I won though, didn't I? Plus, all those extra calories are more of an incentive to do more snow boarding!"

He raised his eyebrows, chuckling to himself as he passed into the large en-suite bathroom of their rented cottage to set the hot tap running. After a few moments, he returned to the bedroom. Tifa was snoozing lightly, arms and legs spread about her. He smirked.

Tomorrow was Christmas day. As an early present two days ago, he had presented her with an envelope, containing two airship tickets to icicle town, and a pass card for its notorious snowboarding slopes. He recalled that when Avalanche had passed through the snow-coated idyllic town eight years ago, Tifa had enjoyed snowboarding. It had made her happy for the moment, in spite of everything; the fact that she had still not told Cloud how she felt, that Aeris was dead, and that they were likely to face their own deaths in the crater. She had been free.

Wrapped up in a bubble of orange that she called a 'snow-suit', she had whooshed and whizzed down the slopes, more often than not finding herself on her backside, as Vincent passed on his skis, a little more adept at remaining vertical than she was, (though primarily it was by luck he fell over when she wasn't looking).

Yesterday evening they had entered into the town's man square, wrapped up in coats and scarves, to eat out. Being away from home, Vincent became quite conscious of how people perceived Tifa and himself. He received no strange stares; instead, people continued about their business. Tifa received a few sideward glances however, though he was well aware it was nothing to do with a brass arm, or startling red eyes. She looked radiant; pink cheeks, glowing ivory skin, warm amber eyes, cast alight by the twinkling lights strung from the eaves of the town's little snow-caked cottages. And he couldn't have been more grateful to the working forces that had brought them together.

She woke at the call of her name. Raising her head and glancing around her with bleary eyes, she saw Vincent smiling at her, leaning on the door of the bathroom. She could smell cinnamon, hot water and a faint trace of match sulphur.

"Bath oil?" She questioned, unwinding her scarf from around her neck. He nodded. "Candles?" He nodded again, as she shrugged of her coat, and tugged her jumper over her head. "You're an angel." She stepped out of the rest of her clothes.

"Only for you," He chuckled, holding the door ajar for her. She placed a foot in gingerly. On deciding her skin wouldn't blister, she stepped in, and lay down, submerging herself for a moment. The bathroom ceiling was lit orange with candlelight, swimming in a distorted manner above her.

"This was a great present, Vincent," She sighed contentedly, putting her feet up on the rim of the bath. "I worry about what you'll think about your Christmas present now."

"It doesn't matter what you've gotten me." He hid a smirk.

They were both silent for a time, simply enjoying one another's company. He liked that best about Tifa; she knew when to leave him to his own thoughts. She would only probe if she felt it necessary. A swift glance found her dozing in the bath, hair spilling over the side, her feet crossed at the ankles, resting on the rim of the bath.

Just over a year being together had brought them an easy relationship; they didn't argue, they spent nearly all of their time together, and Vincent found he took well to all the things he would once have been irrationally uneasy about; sleeping together, cooking, sharing personal space. Domesticity. It wasn't so bad; in fact, it was better than that.

He treat making love to her (in his mind at least) with a small measure of disbelief; she was still so perfect, so delicate. Something he felt he wasn't sure he deserved. But she gave herself to him so willingly, or sometimes, to his secret pleasure, she would take it from him, and after the long, wonderful year, he'd gotten quite attached.

And there was no way he was going to let it get away from him.

***

"Vincent?"

"….hmm…" The room was still dark, a weak grey light permeating the heavy curtains of the little cottage's bedroom. The fire had burned down to embers, the faintest of amber glows still present. He'd guess the time to be about six.

"It's Christmas!"

"Oh? Wow, I'd almost forgotten." He grunted sarcastically, pulling the goose feather pillow he lay on over his head. He heard Tifa laugh, felt her shift beside him. Cooler air wafted in as she moved. Then she started to beat him about the head with his own pillow.

"Please get up! I want to give you your present!" He rolled onto his back, squinting at her through the light of the bedside lamp she had switched on. "Please?" She pouted. He noted her cherry red silk nightdress, and how attractive she looked, with ruffled hair. As if she'd just made love. He suddenly found himself wanted to make it true.

"Alright then," He conceded. She squealed, jumping down from the bed and fetching an armful of presents from the corner, where a miniature Christmas tree had been erected. He noticed the lights had been turned on, and they twinkled innocently to themselves.

"This one is for you!" Barely giving him enough time to sit up, she thrust an envelope under his nose.

"A card? Tifa, you shouldn't have." He ignored her sarcastic laugh as he slid his nail under the seal. Inside, there was a card, upon which there were two cats, one who was watching an aeroplane in the sky from out of a tinsel adorned window. He chuckled at her choice of card, and opened it.

Inside it read;

_To Vincent,_

_I know you liked travelling with us in Avalanche, but perhaps it was never the best time for sightseeing. Perhaps you would enjoy it better, just you and I._

_I love you,_

_Tifa_

_xxxxxxxxxxxxx_

Clipped to the inside of the card, were two airship tickets, for all over the world.

"Tifa, this is…" He struggled to find words.

"I thought it would be fun to go travelling, just me and you."

"It's a fantastic idea. I can't wait."

"It'd be good to do it, you know, before…"

"Before…?"

"Before things start getting in the way."

"I'm not sure I follow."

"Of course you're not following. Here, let me explain. Progressively, in a few months, it's going to get harder for me to do anything at all."

"Tifa?" The expression he wore was one not daring to believe the truth in her words.

"I'm pregnant Vincent-- Its still only early days, but the test I did four days ago was positive."

"Oh, Tifa…" He pulled her into his arms, squeezing her tightly, both laughing and crying. "Open this, now."

He present her with a box, wrapped in red paper, that rattled dully when she shook it. She ripped off the paper, and lifted the lid of the box, to find inside, to her bewilderment, another smaller box. This process went on, until she was getting quite frustrated, Vincent laughing all the while beside her, hand resting on her stomach. Eventually, she reached the centre. Nestled amongst tissue paper, there was a red velvet circular box.

"What the…?"

He picked out the box delicately, placed it in her open palm. She opened it, mouth falling open at the sight of the most beautiful diamond ring she had ever seen. He reached over, plucked it out with his thumb and index finger, taking her left hand in his and sliding it onto her finger.

"Tifa, Will you marry me?"

***


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